Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 70: [The Heir of Thornspine 4] The Roots Beneath the Skins

Chapter 70: [The Heir of Thornspine 4] The Roots Beneath the Skins

The air changed the moment Raven stepped beyond the rotted porch.

The temperature didn’t drop because of wind, but something more insidious—an inner chill, like the manor itself had been holding its breath for centuries and now inhaled them.

Every footstep seemed to echo longer than it should. Floorboards creaked in patterns that felt too intentional. Mold-veined wallpaper curled inward like parchment burnt at the edges. Overhead, chandeliers sagged, fused to the ceiling by tangled roots and long-cooled sap.

What little light managed to pierce the stained glass windows filtered through in warped reds and greens, casting unnatural shadows that stretched the wrong direction.

The whole estate felt... expectant.

Gone was the open expanse of the garden. The Thornspine Manor’s Inner Halls pressed inward like a throat swallowing intruders whole.

Once-grand corridors stretched before them—their noble bones strangled by vines, wallpaper peeling like old skin, chandeliers rotting and fused to the ceiling with thick moss. What little light filtered in through cracked stained-glass windows was warped, casting blood-red and bile-green glows over the decaying estate.

The Deathsong trailed after them, but changed. The shrill, high-pitched voice was gone. Only the low, droning hum and the broken whispers remained, crawling along the floor like mist.

With every step, the manor seemed to breathe. Floorboards groaned with weight not their own. Walls flexed, faintly.

From deeper within the hallway, something shifted.

Not footsteps.

Not breath.

A crawling pressure leaked into the chamber, like wet vines slithering across damp wood. The chandeliers overhead dimmed, their flickering light bending strangely, shadows lurching across the walls.

Then came the noise—a rattle of rusted metal, soft dragging like silverware scraped along the floor. The scent of rotted perfume followed.

They emerged not all at once, but as if rising from the very woodwork.

A Thorn-Sworn Butler, tall and skeletal, stepped forward on clacking heels. Where skin should be, writhing vines pulsed beneath a tattered formal vest. Shears the length of swords clicked at its wrists.

Two Vineflayer Maids drifted in behind it, movements half-floating, half-gliding. Their faces were hidden behind drooping floral masks, but their eyes blinked along their petals in uneven rhythms.

Last came the Rootlings—crawling from cracks in the floor like termites, their bodies thorny and slick, moving in chaotic unison.

The corridor seemed to exhale as they filled it.

[Enemy Detected]

Thorn-Sworn Butler ×1

[Type: Elite Melee]

[Ability: Heavy Shear Strike | Cleave Arc]

[Special: Roots to Floor if Not Interrupted, Gains Defense Buff]

Vineflayer Maid ×2

[Type: Ranged Poison Caster]

[Ability: Petal Burst | Spore Cloud AoE]

[Special: Applies Slow on Hit, Death Spasm Releases Final Poison Puff]

Rootling ×4

[Type: Minor Add | Melee]

[Ability: Thorn Skitter | Jump Latch]

[Special: Clings to Legs, Applies Movement Debuff]

The mob emerged.

First came a Thorn-Sworn Butler, its form skeletal beneath a cracked serving vest, flesh replaced by curling vines. Its arms ended in jagged pruning shears. Flanking it were two Vineflayer Maids, both draped in tattered gowns, their heads wilted blossoms with too many eyes. Crawling between them, Rootlings skittered low, clutching the ground with thorned tendrils like centipedes made of bark.

Raven narrowed his eyes. "Formation."

The team fanned out.

Combat Began.

Duskrunner launched first, dashing low toward the Rootlings, his paws barely touching the ground. He swept through them like a shadow, severing thorned limbs with bladed strikes, tail flicking with precise balance.

Phantom Seer remained back, casting a wide illusion over the chandelier overhead, refracting the dim light—creating phantom silhouettes that confused targeting.

The Thorn-Sworn Butler lunged forward, shears snapping. Raven ducked under its first strike and hooked his Dominion Chain around a collapsing pillar fragment, yanking himself sideways into cover as debris exploded behind him. A flailing Vineflayer had caught Duskrunner mid-dash with a poison burst.

Root-Soul raised her hand—a wave of green light surged forth. Vines erupted beneath the enemy squad, impaling one Rootling and locking another in place. She followed up with a bloomstrike—the vines bursting into toxic barbs. One Vineflayer reeled, shrieking.

Seneschal stepped forward, absorbing a full hit from the Butler’s shears. Bark cracked off his shoulder, spraying splinters, but his footing never shifted.

"Behind me," he rumbled.

The chandelier, weighed down by growing moss and age, groaned and tore free as Phantom Seer cast Fracture Bloom—a targeted illusion that disrupted spatial gravity.

The chandelier crashed into the middle of the mob, breaking the tiles, sending Rootlings scattering like splinters.

Each clash left scars across the manor.

When the chandelier fell, it didn’t just shatter — it cratered the floor, sending up a shockwave of rotted dust and splinters. The nearby wall cracked from the impact, bleeding dark sap from between its seams. Carved moldings and portraits buckled from the vibrations.

Duskrunner’s momentum tore through a support post, which snapped with a dry, splintering scream. A nearby doorway collapsed under the strain, vines ripping free and dragging the frame inward as if the house itself recoiled from the fight.

Even the light dimmed — the stained glass overhead flickered and briefly pulsed, casting unnatural shadows that twisted violently across the floor.

The manor groaned with the blow.

Cracks ran up the pillars. A vine-covered portrait snapped its frame and fell, face-down in ash.

The battle continued.

Duskrunner looped around, his claws ripping across the exposed back of a Vineflayer. Raven rolled in beside him, dual daggers ready. He slashed the second Vineflayer open, its form bursting in a shower of rotted petals and poison mist.

Seneschal, holding the front, raised his staff and slammed it down—Root Trial Lattice triggered. A burst of entangling roots snared the Butler’s legs. Raven seized the moment, threw the Dominion Chain forward, and yanked the creature into the wall with a wet crunch.

With the final Rootling impaled on a summoned Sentinel spear, the hall fell quiet.

Except for the choir.

The whispers and low hum now felt closer, vibrating through the floor and into their bones.

Raven stood slowly, shaking sap from his blades.

Cracks webbed the walls from their fight. The chandelier lay shattered in a pool of rotting glass and dead moss. The manor felt wounded—but still awake.

"Move," Raven said.

They passed deeper into the Inner Halls, through narrow, winding corridors, past wilted bookshelves and broken silver mirrors. The path twisted hard to the left—and erupted.

Vines exploded from the ceiling as Rootlings dropped in a flurry of thorned limbs. From an alcove cloaked in shadow, a Vineflayer struck, flinging a blast of poison.

Raven took the hit first—a Rootling latched to his thigh, its barbs punching into flesh. He grunted and stumbled. Duskrunner darted forward to intercept, but was caught mid-leap by the Vineflayer’s spore burst, tumbling into a mold-crusted table with a crash.

"Backstep!" Raven snapped, ripping the Rootling from his leg and crushing it underfoot.

Phantom Seer flickered into view, casting Echo Mirage to scatter their silhouettes. Root-Soul responded with a volley of thorned lashes, her vines slicing two Rootlings mid-skitter.

But the damage was done. Poison already ticked at Duskrunner’s side, and Raven’s leg ran red.

Ironbark Seneschal stepped into the center of the hall, planting his shield on the ground.

"Hold."

His voice came low and slow, like old stone grinding beneath the weight of the world.

Rite of the Root pulsed outward.

The healing wasn’t gentle.

The vines didn’t ask permission—they surged up through the cracked floorboards with purpose, winding around Raven’s leg and Duskrunner’s flank like they’d been waiting. Thorns brushed open wounds without hesitation, threading through flesh and sealing tissue in one seamless, unnatural motion.

Raven hissed through clenched teeth as the sensation ran cold up his thigh, nerves twitching under the pressure of living bark knitting his skin closed.

Duskrunner growled low, paw twitching as the toxin flushed from his veins in a sudden, stomach-turning pulse. Steam hissed off his fur where the poison was drawn out.

The manor seemed to flinch. The vines rippled—not hostile now, but reverent.

And then the healing retreated. The floorboards cracked closed. The moment passed.

Seneschal said nothing, only lifted his shield with a deliberate weight, steady once more.

The hallway stilled, the air thick with dust and old spores. Shadows twisted wrong in the corners.

They moved in silence now, boots crunching over brittle wood and dried root husks. The air grew tighter with each step, not heavier—denser. Like the house itself didn’t want them to proceed.

Every broken mirror they passed warped their reflections just slightly. Sometimes their eyes glowed back. Sometimes their shadows didn’t match.

Once, Raven’s chain twitched on its own, reacting to something behind a door that hadn’t moved. He didn’t speak of it.

The whispers threaded more thickly through the corridor, brushing against their thoughts. Root-Soul twitched once, her bark-arm reflexively sprouting a thorned bloom that immediately withered.

Seneschal adjusted his grip on his shield without a word.

And still they walked.

Until the corridor finally widened, blooming outward like a wound—exposing a tall set of blackened double doors veined with tangled roots.

The choir was waiting behind it. Then the walls opened.

A set of grand double doors, arched and tangled in black vines, stood before them.

The hum behind it was louder. The whispers hissed.

The next midboss waited beyond.

And the second voice of the choir still sang.

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