Meriel dodged a stream of fire that singed his cloak and burned his beard. He swallowed the dry air, his feet hot on the stony ground, his ears ringing from the constant loud sounds coming from all directions. The protection spell dissipated in front of him, the mana not enough to stop the attack completely.

  He knew what he should have expected when he entered the Azbokeus dungeon, but still, this almost felt like too much.

  Defense wasn’t helping much against attacks so powerful. Quickly, he cast a swift incantation, the words coming to him automatically, repeated a thousand times over. He felt the surrounding mana gulped by his mana heart, and he felt the spell take effect, as if some small part of him left his body.

  [Summon undead level 50 Activated]

  The skeletons sprang up from the ground like bony weeds, charging the beast in front of Meriel's party. It seemed like an army had been summoned, yet, to the dragon, they must have seemed like a good warm-up.

  The dragon's vicious eyes locked on Meriel's party, and he couldn't help but feel fear for the umpteenth time that day, the emotion pounding in his temples, muddling his mind. With great effort, he fought it back, and scanned the rocky cave that they had found the dragon’s lair in, his eyes darting around, looking for ideas.

  The golden coins were scattered all around them on the ground, reflecting the dim torchlight that was his party's only companion. There was nothing else, not a single item that could be of use.

  The army of dead, holding all kinds of rusty and non-rusty weapons, charged like berserkers, not fearing for their own un-life, yet they just dissipated back into dust once the dragon deemed it worthy to turn upon them.

  Hurt as it was, the dragon was still as fierce an enemy as ever.

  “Distract it for a little bit!” Screamed someone from the front, though all of Meriel's companions were turned back to him. Who was that shouting? Maybe Jonathan?

  He knew what he had to do, his own role in this fight. Just this one win, and he would not have to fight again. He could finally let himself be free from the shackles that he had built around himself unknowingly.

  He thought back on the spells he had studied, so many that he had forgone using them all. Not all of them were equally powerful, but while some offered good defense, the others, his favorites, were focused on summoning the living or, as in the case in front of him, non-living creatures.

  What should he actually summon here? What could win them this fight? His mana was starting to run low, making him click his tongue as he browsed the stat and spell menu. The dragon was highly resistant to magic attacks, forcing Meriel to focus on conjuring one summon after another.

  So much mana, and yet it barely feels like enough most of days, he thought, mind racing for options.

  In the end, he settled for the newest spell he practiced. A culmination of several months' work, an astounding achievement, he managed to get this one particular spell to a higher level than anyone the kingdom has ever known before.

  [Summon Creature - Elemental LVL 57 Activated]

  The spell was just shy of reaching level 60. Just shy of hitting a new massive peak. Meriel knew he would undeniably be the strongest mage in the world if he actually managed to surpass the last choke-hold in front of him.

  But that would come later. Now he watched his endless, excruciating work bear fruit.

  The rocks around the dragon shifted just as it attacked one of Meriel's companions, the fighter Jonathan. He held a massive shield, donning a suit of full-plate armor so heavy that it would immobilize anyone else.

  Jonathan's legs shook as he took the brunt of the claw attack, holding his shield with both of his hands, barely managing to keep his footing. Until one of his bones cracked, and he collapsed with a grunt. He didn't scream, but instead Meriel saw him supporting the leg with internal mana of his own.

  Magic and pure willpower were holding that man up.

  An incantation from the party’s arcane healer came from somewhere on Meriel’s left side, the words coming fast one after another like a song, the effect of the spell taking place almost immediately. Green shimmering light danced over the shadows, whirling around Jonathan in a flowery pattern that closed his wounds. Jonathan screamed as it did its work, stitching torn muscles and broken bones.

  He wouldn't have to scream for much longer.

  Meriel's spell finally took hold, and the rocks at both sides of the dragon finally took the shape of a man, breaking away from the walls.

  The creatures were the size of a small building; stocky, wide at the shoulders, their legs solid, arms replaced by huge boulders, small circular heads attached to the front of their torsos.

  Meriel mentally demanded that they step forward, and they moved faster than ever before. Every level increased their stats when a mage as powerful as Meriel was casting the spells.

  Their steps shook the ground as much as the dragon’s did. It was almost unnatural– no, it definitely was unnatural– how fast they moved. Even Meriel couldn't help but suppress a chuckle of surprise at his own prowess.

  The rock golems slammed into the dragon from both sides, grabbing hold of its wings and back. The dragon let out a pained roar, its black sheen scales torn away, falling to the ground in a mix of flesh and scale.

  And Jonathan roared in return.

  He finally grabbed his sword, throwing his shield to the ground, the distraction proving big enough for him to finally go into the offensive.

  Like a wolf on top of its quarry, he pounded forward, arrows and spells coming from his side, originating from their other companions. He was a flash of movement, his steps coming so fast that Meriel couldn't help but be surprised for the millionth time. Jonathan was respected by almost all their countrymen for a reason.

  The dragon, annoyed at the attacking party, lifted its head, scanning the surroundings, making Meriel think for a little while before he realized what the dragon was doing.

  It's searching for the source of the golems. He clicked his tongue and quickly cast another spell, feeling even more mana leave his body.

  [Ice Dome - Level 55 - Activated]

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The fire hit the moment the spell came to life, and the dome quickly started dropping droplets of water. The fire would burn him any moment now. But Meriel saw through the magic, and so when the fire suddenly stopped, he knew why.

  Jonathan jumped onto the dragon's back. The movement seemed easy for him, his legs providing him unnatural strength in a way that made it seem as if his movements were effortless, though Meriel knew that they were anything but.

  His sword gleamed and enlarged into a spectral blue light shape, the blade five times as long as before. With one single slice, he cut into the back of the dragon's neck. It didn't go through fully, and so he used the skill again - the sword coming back to life like a rekindled flame.

  The dragon tried to go onto its hind legs, but it couldn't manage to do so. The golems were holding it, solidly planted onto the ground like a chain. It did, however, throw Jonathan off his feet, the man barely managing to grab hold of a protruding scale so he wouldn’t fall down.

  It roared, and the room got filled with the acrid stench of whatever it used to breathe the fire.

  Now came a warning voice from the right side of Meriel. Probably Beril’s, the archer always the first to tell the others when something was wrong.

  The dragon never got its chance to wreathe the inferno onto the party again.

  The sword, again glowing, sliced through the same spot in the neck the second time, Jonathan finally finding a solid space to stand on. And just like that, the head of the dragon fell, the massive weight shaking the ground again.

  Silence filled the cave.

  The legend was over...

  “Oh man! I can't wait to tell Elsa the good news!” Jonathan laughed, sitting on the ground, drinking the water from his canteen like a parched man after days in the desert. His head was full of sweat, grimy and wet. He was burned and scratched all over, and yet he laughed.

  All of them did.

  Meriel couldn't help chuckling himself. They had been building themselves up for this one singular fight for months now. Years, maybe, though time was hard to keep track of when one was so focused.

  And finally, the journey was over. The dragon, the oh-so-feared beast of the mountain, finally died. The reward promised to the party was greater than anything else. They would die rich. But Meriel didn't care for any of that.

  Instead, he found himself fascinated by the corpse lying just a few feet away from him. The beautiful black scales were harder than any other material, impenetrable by any non-magical weapon. The giant teeth, as large as his forearm. The muscle tissue of legendary quality. What creatures could he craft with such materials? Could he even try to replicate the beast’s qualities? Make a new one, albeit less primal?

  He wanted to use [Detect] on it, but he decided not to for now. The plan was, after much deliberation, to come back again with carts with which they could scavenge the corpse, sell the materials, and take the head back to the King's castle.

  “We should really get out. This stench is beginning to become unbearable.” Jonathan remarked, holding a cloth over his face now. “Shall we?”

  All of the party members nodded in unison, picked up their stuff, and turned to leave.

  Meriel glanced at his stats and skill levels. The new spell went up in its level progression since it was used successfully. That was the way with these things. Use the skill, make it actually do something that it was meant to do, and suddenly the caster found himself improving, even if it was just a little bit. It was always nice to see some tangible progress.

  Meriel was supposed to feel relieved, happy, maybe even elated, at the success of his group. Maybe he even should have felt excited about the prospect of his future, but all he could feel was the simple joy of getting to see Elsa again.

  The alchemist who was responsible for their health potions, their strength potions, and the mana potions that fueled Meriel himself, was waiting just outside the entrance of the dungeon.

  No one else knew, but they had promised to buy a house in the mountains and start a new life after this conquest was over. They didn’t share the fact they were seeing each other with the others—too many parties fell apart on love drama, and Jonathan seemed to have an eye for her as well. But Meriel would finally tell the others today. It was one of his many pleasures, and holding this relationship secret from his friends hurt him, as much as he rationalized it.

  He was deep in thought as he walked on the thin pathways in the dungeon, the others in a line before him. Azbokeus dungeon, revered as the most dangerous in all of Lavarza kingdom, seemed so empty now. The giant stone pathways, carved with runes that seemed so threatening before were… dull now, the threat stripped away, the creatures that pestered them on the journey, gone.

  It felt almost as if every creature knew of its lord's death, and did its best to hide in every crevice that it could find.

  He looked forward, watching his companions, his best friends, and he almost felt as if he could cry from how much he loved them all. From all the parties he could have joined once his magical talents began to show, he couldn’t have picked a better one. They were all so wildly different, yet they complemented each other like pieces of a puzzle.

  Vivien, the healer who managed to keep them alive more than any potion could. The thread stitching the party back together. Always the bubbly one to make every celebration feel twice as lively as it was. Even now, she was laughing about something Meriel overheard.

  Beril the Archer was almost as silent as Meriel usually was. But he wasn't silent in the way that many, including Meriel, were—silent so he could keep himself from embarrassment. No, he was silent in a way where if he spoke, the others respected his words more than any others. The steady rock that kept the group grounded.

  And then there was Jonathan, the heart of the group, the one that held the group together like glue. He was the one that got them started on this treacherous journey, and he took them to the end of it. Meriel would be grateful for that as long as he lived.

  Almost as if sensing his gaze, Jonathan looked back at him, his lips turned into a smile. He turned toward the others, shooing them forward onto the rope bridge which connected the middle part of the dungeon.

  “Can you two go first? Got something I wanted to talk with Meriel about.” He met the eyes of the two others as they looked at him questioningly. “Privately.” He added, leaving no space for arguments.

  Meriel had no idea what this was supposed to be about, but he waited patiently as Beril nodded and carefully walked onto the bridge, the ropes moving a little under his surprising weight. A lot of wiry muscle on that man. Meriel considered whether he should try training once he settled in his new house as well.

  Maybe Elsa would appreciate it.

  The two others slowly crossed the bridge, the ropes creaking under their weight, and disappeared into the tunnel on the other side, the light of their torch showing their departure.

  “What is it?” Meriel asked, confused about the request. Did he figure out his relationship with Elsa?

  “I… wanted to thank you. For saving me back there.” Jonathan smirked, his hands behind his back as he walked toward the bridge, leaning onto one of the wooden beams holding it up.

  The confusion in Meriel only deepened. “It was not the first time, friend. We always have each other’s back, right?”

  “Yes,” Jonathan agreed. “But this was the closest I’ve ever gotten to actually dying.” He looked toward the waterfall in the distance, invisible to them due to the dimness of the cavern, the sound of cascading water marking its trail. “Seems fitting for our last adventure, right? Almost dying, yet emerging victorious?”

  “Indeed.” Meriel returned the smile, and walked toward the bridge as well, standing right at the beginning. His stomach lurched as he looked down, just like it did on the way to the dragon, and he gripped his torch a little more tightly, his leather glove creaking as he gripped the wood like a lifeline.

  The fall downwards seemed endless. He swallowed, trying to wave the thoughts of the sight away, and looked back at Jonathan. “It’s been a pleasure adventuring with you, Jonathan. But I’m sure our paths will cross again.” Now it was his turn to feel awkward. “And no thanks are necessary.”

  “Your spells have gotten stronger. You joined as the last delver, yet you’ve grown at a rate that scares me, Meriel. You have a gift.” Jonathan changed the topic.

  Meriel could take the compliments no longer, and so he turned toward the bridge, raising one of his feet to take the first treacherous step. He’d avoided learning flight spells for too long. He’d have to fix that soon. “Let’s just leave this, Jonathan. You can thank me later when you buy me a drink.”

  Meriel’s foot planted on the wood, the damned bridge creaking even though Meriel was nowhere near as heavy as the other members in his party. If only being the strongest mage in the kingdom came with the removal of basic, mortal fears.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to.” Jonathan’s voice came from behind him.

  “Wha—?”

  Meriel didn’t get to finish the question before two strong hands pushed him. His feet slipped from underneath him, the rope guardrail—too low to catch him, scratched his lower back.

  And then he fell into the ravine.