"So this is the deeper layer that even the high-ranked adventurers were avoiding."
Draven's clone spoke aloud, his voice echoing faintly off the dark, pulsating walls of the dungeon of necromancy. The air was thick with a heavy stench, a mixture of death and decay that seemed to seep into his very bones. But for him, this was more invigorating than stifling. The deeper he ventured, the stronger his connection to the necromantic energy pulsing through the dungeon. He glanced at the faint glow of runes etched into the stone floor, evidence of the long-lost souls that had once wandered here.
"It's no wonder," he continued in a low murmur, his sharp eyes scanning the passage ahead. "If high-ranked adventurers die in this place, they become undead. It strengthens the dungeon and adds to its defenses—a never-ending cycle of feeding itself."
