After meeting with my father I went to my favorite spot on the city wall, overlooking the border of this kingdom. No one cares if people come up here, because wars between kingdoms seldom occur and bandits are small in numbers. I like it here because it was a quiet place to think over my situation.
When I shattered my core I believed that I was committing suicide, that was the plan at least; but for good or ill, things went awry. For reasons that I am unsure of, I was reincarnated, or that was what I thought at first.
The first realization of what has happened to me started to occur when I was around three years old, memories of my past life slowly started to resurface as my consciousness grew stronger with time. It felt to me as if I was an old man reliving his life's memories from the past to the present, only to discover that I am just a three year old child. It started as still images of strong emotional events, followed by snippets of random memories of the past life: during the day, I would know and understand things that I have never been taught; at night, the memories would haunt me in my dreams.
I was fortunate, when I awoke from my nightmares my mother would be there to offer comfort. While I lay in her arms, I could recall memories from this life. I could remember taking my first breath, bits and pieces of learning how to crawl, starting to push up in order to stand on my own and walking. From an outside observer, It was a normal journey from infancy to toddler, but for me it was a blurred replay of time when instincts and bodily functions ruled my world.
Like a movie being played, it's something that I did not have control over; but as time progressed I became the director of my own story: until the plot twist occurred. When I was about three and a half years old, many incidences started to happen that made me doubt my supposed reincarnation.
The first incident occurred when I became curious about my status; just like a cat pouncing on its' prey a familiar blue screen appeared in front of me, forcefully ripping an inarticulate sound from my throat. After calming down and allowing my heart to settle, I inspected the screen for changes. The most noticeable difference was the title, "Divinity of Dungeons." Although the title sounds highfaluting, its' meaning was vague, so I inspected further.
Divinity of Dungeons: A dungeon core which has reached the level of the gods in raw power, territory, and influence of its' surrounding; often worshiped by other dungeons and civilizations.
At the time I thought this was absurd, why would anyone worship a hole in the ground. As I continued to peruse the status screen nothing else caught my eye, my Dungeon and Experience Points increased dramatically—which is expected, I have not been using them—damning me further into hell.
Like a nail in a coffin, the next incident occurred a few days after, when I remembered my soul storage. Think of it as space and time storage magic but not attach to an object, but rather a soul. When I checked not only did it work but everything was still there: mounds of gold coins, enough to build multiple planets; spirit stones of all sizes, some were the size of mountains; skill scrolls and manuals for just about everything. Let's just say, if I needed anything a dungeon can supply, it can be found in my soul storage.
When I took out a skill scroll, I got excited with delusions of grandeur. My hands were shaking at the thoughts of becoming the coolest three year old around, knowing all the skills there are to know. Unfortunately, to my dismay, the scroll didn't work on me.
This realization left me depressed for weeks, in a world dependent on scrolls to teach and learn, I was restricted. Although many people would be envious of my abilities, I know my skills better than anyone, it was not meant for direct combat and needed time to work. In a fight I would lose, unless I chose to kill them.
This deficiency was not the only thing that led to my sorrows. Every morning now when I awoke, a flower bud would grow from the side of my head just above my right ear. A Red Oleander, similar to my life in the dungeon, one would sprout everyday leaving a trail of my passage. It has become a routine to wake up early to remove the plant and place it in my soul storage, because when it grew so would my fears. The Red Oleander is the most covetous item in my dungeon, a panacea filled with spiritual essences. If someone noticed me growing one on my head, the implications would be dire; I would be kept in a dark cell being fed manure, so more can be grown each day.
The only thing that snapped me out of my depression was when I remembered about my friend, Death of Rabbits. As soon as I did—I crossed my fingers hoping for the best—I summoned him. Shadows appeared to liftoff the ground as if fog was rising upwards to the sky, only to solidify into a one foot tall skeletal rabbit with bones made of metal.
I smiled, he was the only friend that I made in my past life, literally. At the time I wanted a guardian, the big bad boss who was my last line of defense. If one had to classify Death of Rabbits as a monster, then he would be considered a golem. I drew inspiration for him from my favorite author, but chose a rabbit because of the dichotomy; a reaper who was a rabbit, a short shrimp that was powerful, a servant for my whims, but ended up as my loyal friend instead.
He was made from the strongest metals and materials, even his tattered looking robe held innumerable enchantments and runes. Made with all my efforts to be the best, fortunately for me, he ended up a god level monster.
"There you are master. Bye-chance did you change your hair?" the rabbit said telepathically and I laughed. Yep, that was the same old friend with his dry wit, facetious tongue, and biting sarcasm. He looked me up and down, "It appears we need to get you a different war chariot. Something comfortable, I know how you like to laze about for years at a time," and with that my old friend was back by my-side.
Explaining his existence was not hard to do, a few lies in a world where summoning beast were common did the trick. Soon enough people got use to him and paid little mind to his antics, as I continued to live my life as a normal child. Similar to most children my age, I began to ask questions: firing them off like a machine gun trying to suppress the adults, wanting to learn more about this world: while most ducked, some targets could not escape my barrage. Overtime I gleaned a much better view and understanding of this world.
This planet is highly dependent on dungeons for its' survival, it can best be described as a world speckled with dungeons. Where a dungeon entrance can be found there would be life nearby flourishing. Moreover, if the dungeon has a ground floor like mine, then it was an island oasis surrounded by a sea of sand. The seventeen largest kingdoms have an entrance to my dungeon with thousands of other dungeons out there.
If this world can be described using a proverb, then the people have been handed a fish with no way of making a living without handouts from the dungeons. Their idea of education is simply handing the child a language scroll found in the dungeons' first floor.
They were hunters and gatherers, with little by way of industry. Large farms did not exist, land with arable soil was hard to come by. I have yet to see anyone keep a garden. Their blacksmiths are crude, only able to put bits and pieces they found in the dungeons together, for example the wheels from their wagons and carriages came from the chariots ridden by skeletal warriors.
Even the buildings and homes were built from bricks scavenged from runes inside the dungeon. The resources on this planet are just too sparse. I felt a shiver down my spine at the thought, without my dungeon the people might truly die. All this time, I have never considered that before today, and it made me feel uneasy. I am still trapped by my dungeon, the only way to truly be free is to teach this planet how to grow.
As I laid there on my lounge chair overlooking the desert view, something from my musings struck me—worshiped by others—and like a madman laughing at his own cleverness, I started to chuckle. Faith and belief in higher beings have led many to follow blindly for a cause, what if I can use that to instigate a change in this world to make it more self-reliant. As a god, I can appoint myself an oracle of the divine dungeon. "Believers, follow me to greatness… hahaha," I whispered.
"Master, you're sounding a bit derange right now," Death of Rabbits observed.
"Hahaha… sorry, but I just came up with a brilliant plan," I retorted with pride.
"Let me guess, does it have to do with world domination?" he said dryly with an eye roll to add emphasis to his question.
"Yep, hahaha," I said with glee in my voice. Furthermore I knew, if faith can't do it then greed will. With that thought, I started to put my grand plans into motion.