Sera - A Dungeon Revival LitRPG

Marwood

Frederick wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his calloused hand, feeling the grit of dried sweat and dust against his skin. As he finished placing the last of the wooden planks, he paused, straightening up to stretch the stiffness from his back. The midday sun hung high overhead, its relentless heat pouring down on the bustling construction site.

Dust swirled around him in spirals, kicked up by the steady rhythm of hammers and saws, before settling into the creases of his threadbare clothing. His once vibrant blue shirt had long faded to a dull gray.

While he was carrying a few planks of wood, a booming voice cut through from behind, causing him to drop the planks. “Fred! I’ve had enough of your slacking!”

Frederick turned slowly, meeting the eyes of the towering figure of his supervisor: Merrick. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, muscles bulging beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the veins standing out in sharp relief against his tanned skin.

“You’ve been dragging your feet all morning, and I can’t afford to have you slowing us down.”

Fred’s heart sank. He hadn’t meant to fall behind, but the exhaustion from long hours of backbreaking work was taking its toll. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll work harder, I promise.”

Merrick leaned in closer. “Promises won’t get this building finished. If you can’t keep up, I’ll find someone who can. Do you understand me?”

Fred nodded vigorously, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Merrick straightened, his disdainful glare boring into Fred before he turned on his heel and stalked away. The weight of the supervisor's scorn was heavy, but Fred’s shoulders sagged with relief as the tension slowly faded. Fuck me, that was close, I can't lose this job.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of relentless labor combined with mundane tasks. Fred’s muscles burned with exertion, pain searing through his arms and back. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he had felt like his body was ready to give up on him.

While the other workers packed their tools and prepared to head home, Fred approached the paymaster’s tent with a sense of dread curling in his stomach. He'd seen Merrick earlier, speaking to the paymaster with a pointed gesture in his direction.

When his turn came to collect his wages, the paymaster, a thin, stern-looking man glanced up at him over the rims of his glasses. "Name?"

“Frederick, sir,” Fred said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

The paymaster looked over the list in front of him, trailing down the parchment until it stopped abruptly. "It appears you’ve been marked for insufficient work today. No pay.”

Fred’s stomach plummeted. “Please, sir, I worked hard all day. I need the money. Just the five copper pieces as usual, that’s all I’m asking for.”

The paymaster sighed, removing his spectacles and adjusting them briefly. “Rules are rules. If your supervisor says you didn’t meet expectations, there’s nothing I can do.”

Desperation twisted in Fred’s gut. He couldn’t go home empty-handed. “Please, I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise. Just this once, give me my wage.”

The paymaster hesitated, his gaze flicking to Merrick, who stood nearby with his arms crossed, a smug smirk playing on his lips. After what felt like an eternity, the paymaster relented. “Fine, but if this happens again, there won’t be any more leniency for you.”

Fred exhaled a sigh of relief as the paymaster counted out five copper pieces and handed them over. He clutched the coins tightly in his hand, the cool metal pressing into his palm. That was way too close.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

Merrick's eyes bored into Fred as he clutched the coins tightly in his hand. "Just get the fuck out of here. And make sure you earn your keep tomorrow, or you won't be so lucky next time."

Fred nodded quickly, murmuring another "Thanks, sir," before hastily turning away. As he stepped out of the paymaster's tent, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "Damn prick."

He tucked the copper coins into his pocket as he made his way through the bustling streets of Marwood. By this time, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched across the cobblestone streets.

Before long, he arrived at a crowded market. Vendors shouted over each other, while the clatter of carts rolling over uneven stone added to the commotion.

Fred navigated through the crowd, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller, his eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding the gaze of the bustling crowd around him. He first stopped at a stall selling fruits, looking for the cheapest options possible. Hopefully there's some apples around, the kids love those.

Fortunately, he did spot some apples that appeared affordable. They were small and bruised, their skins mottled with dark patches, but they were still edible. He reached out and held the fruits with a gentleness born of necessity, carefully selecting a few of the least damaged ones. The vendor watched him with a mix of pity and impatience, eyes narrowing as Fred counted out a few copper pieces before handing them over.

With the apples tucked into his pocket, Fred moved on until he reached the butcher’s stall. The display was sparse, the best cuts long gone, leaving only the most modest remnants behind.

Fred scanned the offerings, his heart sinking as he realized how little was left. He finally settled on a small piece of salted meat, the cheapest cut available. The butcher, a burly man with a thick mustache that twitched as he spoke, handed over the meat without a word, his attention already shifting to the next customer, dismissing Fred as quickly as he had served him.

Fred's heart grew heavier as he looked down at his meager purchases. I've already spent all the money I saved up and today's wages. But hopefully, Ruth is feeling generous today.

He still needed bread, and there was only one person he knew that would be willing to help him out. Yet, as he made his way to the baker’s stall, his hope dwindled further. The stall was nearly empty, the day's supply all but gone.

As he approached, the baker, a kind-eyed woman with brown hair tied up in a bun, was in the process of closing up for the day. She glanced up towards him and offered a gentle smile. "Evening, Fred. You're cutting it close today."

Fred nodded. "I know, Ruth. I… I don’t have much left, but I need some bread for my family."

Ruth's eyes softened further as she glanced at the remaining loaves. They were stale and unsold, but still very much edible. "Tell you what," she said, reaching for the loaves. "These are going to waste anyway. You can have them."

Fred’s eyes filled with gratitude as he accepted the bread. "Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to us."

Ruth waved away his thanks with a warm smile. "Just make sure your kids eat decently tonight."

Fred clutched the bread and his other meager purchases close to his chest. After an hour of walking, the bustling market’s din faded behind him, giving way to the quieter, more somber atmosphere of the slums.

After Fred turned onto a narrow, rutted lane, he passed many houses in various states of disrepair. Crumbling brickwork, windows with peeling paint, and sagging roofs spoke of hard lives and unyielding struggles. The muddy path was riddled with potholes, each step a careful game of avoiding the stagnant puddles that dotted the way.

His own home stood at the very end of the lane. Its crumbling brick walls had long since been covered by a patchwork of grime and peeling paint. Meanwhile, the roof was barely put together with mismatched shingles, sagged ominously in places. Home sweet home.

When he pushed the shoddy door to his house open, he immediately smelled the scent of cooked meals, dirty fabric, and the distinctive essence of his family. His wife, Anna, was seated at a small, worn table.

Her tired eyes lit up with relief the moment they met him. "Welcome home, dear."

Fred moved closer to kiss her on the forehead. "I missed you, sweetheart."

"Don't worry about me too much, you should see the kids."

Their three young children were scattered around the room, each absorbed in their own world. Marta, the eldest at ten, sat quietly by the small window, her face illuminated by the last remnants of daylight. She was drawing with a stub of charcoal on a piece of salvaged paper, while six-year-old Tomas and four-year-old Lily played with makeshift toys.

The instant the door closed behind him, the children’s attention snapped to their father as they sprang up from their activities and ran to him. "Papa!"

Fred knelt down slowly, the day's fatigue momentarily forgotten as he gathered his children into a tight embrace. "Hey, hey, there's enough of me to go around."

He pulled back slightly to look at their faces, each one beaming up at him. Marta’s serious eyes, always observant, were alight with a rare happiness. Tomas’s energetic grin mirrored the infectious joy of youth, while Lily’s shy smile peeked from behind her thumb, which she had absentmindedly started to suck.

"I missed you all so much," Fred said, placing a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads.

"Did you bring us anything, Papa?" Tomas asked eagerly, his eyes darting to the bag Fred had set down beside him.

Fred chuckled softly, ruffling his son’s hair. "I did, actually. Some bread and apples for dinner. We’ll all eat together."

Lily’s eyes widened. "Yay! Apples!"

Fred’s heart melted at her innocent delight. He glanced up to see Anna setting aside her mending, the needle and thread carefully placed on the small table.

She soon rose to join them. "Alright, everybody. Go play for a bit while I talk to your father."

The children reluctantly let go of Fred, their small hands lingering on his arms for a moment longer before they scampered off to their corner of the room. Then, Anna took Fred’s hand and leading him to a quieter corner of the room.

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for answers. "Did you get paid?"

Fred nodded, reaching into his pocket to show her the coins, their dull gleam catching the light. He also held up the modest food he had managed to buy: the bread, a few bruised apples, and a small piece of meat. "It wasn’t easy, but we have something to eat tonight."

"Thank you, we’ll make do," Anna whispered.

They worked together to prepare a simple meal, using the apples, meat, and bread to create a modest but nourishing dinner. As they sat around the small table, the children chattered happily, their worries momentarily forgotten.

After dinner, Fred and Anna tucked the children into bed. Marta, the eldest, hugged her father tightly. "Goodnight, Papa," she whispered.

"Goodnight, my sweet," Fred replied, kissing her forehead. He then tucked Tomas and Lily under their worn but warm blankets, giving each a gentle kiss goodnight.

With the children asleep, Fred and Anna retreated to their own small bed. They lay in the darkness, the weight of the day settling over them. Anna rested her head on Fred’s chest, "we’ll get through this."

"I know," Fred whispered back. I just hope everything will be okay.

Long after Anna had fallen asleep, Fred slipped out of bed and moved silently through the small house, careful not to wake anyone. Once outside, he made his way deeper into the slums.

He arrived at a dilapidated shack at the edge of the slums and knocked softly on the door. After a moment, it creaked open to reveal a man with sharp features and a weary expression. "Freddie, my man, come in."

Fred entered, the familiar scent of smoke and sweat filling his nostrils. The two sat at a rickety table, the only light coming from a small, flickering candle.

"Barin, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. This job I have is complete shit but I got no choice but to keep going."

"Yeah, I feel you there. Can I offer you a drink? I've got some ale." Barin said, lifting up a dusty bottle of mystery liquid that he took from who knows where."

Fred shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "Thanks, but no. Alcohol doesn’t do it for me anymore."

"Listen, I feel you. But I might have something else that can help you unwind, at least for a little while."

Fred watched as Barin reached under the table and pulled out a glass bottle filled with a liquid that looked like molten gold. The substance glowed softly in the dim light, casting an eerie yet captivating glow.

"What is that?" Fred asked out loud, squinting his eyes.

Barin smiled faintly. "Folks have been calling it Angel Tears. It’s a new product from the Black Eagles. Says it can make you forget your troubles and feel like nothing else matters."

"I don’t know about this one, Barin, these potions can be dangerous no?"

"I’ve tried it myself. Just a little won’t hurt. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Trust me."

Fred hesitated, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. The idea of escaping his worries, even for a brief moment, was incredibly tempting. He watched as Barin uncorked the bottle, the faint pop echoing in the quiet room. The liquid inside shimmered, its golden hue mesmerizing to the eyes.

Barin poured a small amount into a tin cup, the liquid flowing smoothly and settling with a slight glow. He then held the cup out to Fred. "Just a sip, try it."

Taking a deep breath, Fred accepted the cup. He raised it to his lips, feeling the chill of the liquid as it touched his mouth. He took a cautious sip, the taste surprisingly sweet and smooth, unlike anything he had ever experienced.

Almost immediately, a warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and radiating outward like the gentle embrace of a summer sun. His worries and fatigue melted away, replaced by a profound sense of euphoria that lifted him from the inside out.

Fred’s eyes widened in amazement as the potion took effect. The dim, shadowy room around him seemed to brighten, colors becoming more vivid and details sharper. Every sound, from the creak of the wooden floorboards to the distant murmur of voices outside, was clearer, more distinct, as if the world had been tuned to a perfect pitch.

A blissful smile spread across his face as he turned to look at Barin, his friend’s features appearing more defined and vibrant. "Holy shit, what's in this stuff?"

Barin nodded, his own smile reflecting Fred’s newfound joy. "I told you. It’s like nothing else."

For the first time in what felt like ages, Fred felt truly happy. He knew the effects of the Angel Tears wouldn’t last, but for now, he allowed himself to revel in the moment, savoring the fleeting escape from his struggles. Damn, this is some good stuff.

Fred looked at Barin again. "How did you get your hands on this?"

Barin leaned back in his chair and let out a blissful smile. "The Black Eagles were actually distributing them for free, so I took my shot."

"Do you think taking free stuff from them is a good idea?" I mean, nothing from them comes without a price."

"I know it’ll probably screw me later, but a good time is a good time. Sometimes you need to grab what little joy you can find, even if it comes with strings attached."

"You’re not worried about what they’ll ask for in return?" Fred asked, setting the cup down carefully on the table.

Barin’s smile faded slightly. "Of course I am. But think about it, Fred. We break our backs every day for scraps. We can’t always afford to be picky about where our relief comes from. I’m tired of feeling like I’m drowning every second of the day. This," he gestured to the glowing bottle, "gives me a chance to come up for air, even if it's just for a moment."

Fred nodded slowly, understanding but not entirely convinced. The warmth of the potion continued to spread through him, loosening the tight knots of worry and fatigue that had become a constant in his life.

He leaned back in his chair, letting his eyes close for a moment. "Alright, but can you at least tell me how long you have been using this stuff?"

"A couple of weeks. The first time I tried it, I was hooked. It’s hard to go back to feeling like crap all the time once you’ve had a taste of this."

"Shit, this was a bad idea after all."

"Fred, relax, life's shit anyway. We should take what we can get."