Step 3 - Bushwackers and Highwaymen - Goblin Slayer Side Story 2 DAI KATANA Volume 1
“Ugh! Stay away from me!” Female Warrior cries, looking on the verge of tears, as she shoves away another pile of goo. The slime, caught on her spear tip, slams into the wall, where it bursts with a wet splat.
How many does that make? you wonder as you watch Female Warrior flail away at the monsters like a child with a stick.
“I’m so sick of these things…!” She’s already destroyed quite a number of them, spurred on by her personal hatred of slimes. You can’t bring yourself to laugh at the sight of her covered in red that looks just like blood spatter, even though it isn’t.
Your scout, who’s been checking out the enemy composition, comes rushing back toward you. “Cap, there’s more of ’em up ahead!” In the distance, down the wire-frame hallway, you see the hazy figure of some monster. The miasma in the dungeon makes it hard to tell exactly what monster it is.
“If you don’t know what you’re fighting, best assume it’s a dragon.”
According to your master’s old advice, that thing could be far more threatening than some dead slimes.
Without a moment’s hesitation, you bring your sword down on the skeleton-like silhouette. The instant you do, you hear a sound like shattering pottery, and the enemy figure flinches back. There’s no spray of blood, but instead white shards graze your cheek before disappearing into the darkness behind you.
image ‘An undead kobold!’
“Good, then it should be vulnerable to Dispel…!” Myrmidon Monk says, his mandibles clacking as he forms the sigil. In an instant, the oppressive, moldy smell of the dungeon is swept away by a breath of fresh air. That breeze is the blessing of the Trade God, who protects travelers, and it causes the skeleton soldier to clatter to the ground in pieces. Perhaps the creature was once a dog-man padfoot who wandered into the maze and never made it back out, or perhaps it was summoned by another Non-Prayer Character. In any event, even a padfoot would think it was the skeleton of a dog now, the remains of this monster that was half-dog and half-lizard.
Considering how desperate you are to conserve your spells, you’re grateful this was all it took to bring the undead creature down. But then…
“It’s still moving!” your cousin exclaims from behind you.
And indeed, although its movements are now clearly very awkward and stiff, the skeleton hasn’t stopped. You quickly position your sword, low and to the left, then close the distance by sliding your feet across the floor. You don’t have to be too frightened, you think, but at the same time, there’s never any telling what will happen in this dungeon.
“No worries! This’ll finish the job!” Half-Elf Scout comes rushing past you, slamming the hilt of his dagger into the skeleton and breaking it apart. Instantaneously, the creature collapses into pieces as if the string holding it together had snapped. The collection of old bones sinks into the sea of slime, a somewhat disturbing sight despite the lack of gore.
You’ve heard it said that the power of the Death down here, which is like a virus, sometimes causes even Turn Undead to be ineffective. This time, though, somewhat to your surprise, you seem to have managed it. Perhaps that’s the small blessing of still being on the top floor of the dungeon.
“I’m sorry—perhaps I should have lent some aid…?” Female Bishop asks, calmly smashing one of the surviving slimes with the sword and scales. You look around cautiously, your sword still at the ready, but shake your head at her. You can’t be afraid to go all out when the moment calls for it, but committing everything every time will only exhaust you. You feel that if this was enough to get you through safely, then that’s all that was needed. Female Bishop smiles slightly when you say as much. “I’m glad, then… Er, a-also, could I have you check over the map?”
She sounds somewhat apologetic, having been right in the middle of the mapping when the fight broke out, but you don’t mind. You expect enemies inside a chamber, but this was a random encounter. Sudden is sudden, no matter how prepared you might be. You wipe the filth from your blade and return it to its scabbard, then take the sheepskin paper Female Bishop holds reluctantly out to you.
This is excellent. You look at the map and grunt appreciatively. It isn’t the most technically accomplished thing in the world, but it’s very neat. Even considering how uniform the construction of the dungeon is, one similar segment after another, it’s still impressive work for a woman who can hardly see. Most of the first floor is already accounted for, hallways described by charcoal lines and carefully notated.
“Man, wandering monsters never have treasure chests,” Half-Elf Scout complains as he rifles through the monsters’ meager possessions.
“It’s all good. Experience is experience,” Myrmidon Monk replies, still keeping watch vigilantly. Half-Elf Scout looks at him and shrugs.
Myrmidon Monk might have given Female Bishop some pointers, but she did the rest on her own. You tell her the map is well drawn and will serve nicely, and you see her face soften ever so slightly into a smile. “You…really mean that? I certainly appreciate it, but…”
None of you has anything to gain from lying. You pat Female Bishop on the shoulder in reassurance, then let out a sigh. You’ve been coming down into this dungeon for a while now, and it seems like things are proceeding apace for you. That’s not to say you can afford to relax, but…
“It’s true—we’ve started to get used to this work.” Your cousin is grinning. You admonish her not to let her guard down, then turn to the last person in line.
“Urgh… Yeah, we’re fine, but I’m sure never letting my guard down around a slime again…” Female Warrior is crouched on the ground, still mumbling about her hatred of these creatures. Her entire body is stained a light pink; you almost smile as you toss her a rag she can use to wipe off. “Thanks,” she says weakly, blotting at her face and hair. She’s messy but uninjured.
Slimes specialize in ambush attacks like hanging from the ceiling and then dropping on an enemy’s face to suffocate them, but that isn’t their only trick. Getting hit by one is a lot like being nailed by a full waterskin, and some of them can land pretty hard. Even if they aren’t acidic or poisonous like the ones you’ve heard about in rumors, you know it’s still bad news to fall victim to one of their surprise attacks.
You know that but…
After a moment, Female Warrior rises to her feet, saying, “…They didn’t even touch me. Gosh, what is wrong with me…? I really have to get myself together.” She grabs her spear and does indeed appear to have pushed away the worst of her thoughts. But even from your brief acquaintance, you know enough to suspect she isn’t quite as calm and collected as she looks.
Slimes are either the best opponents for her or the worst… Every time you see her engage them, you’re never sure what you should say to her. There’s never been another call as close as that first trip into the dungeon, but every encounter with slimes leaves her dripping wet. Why? The way she presses the rag to her face afterward gives you an inkling. Maybe it’s that, despite being in the front row, she spends an instant paralyzed by surprise whenever slimes appear…
“Mn… There. Yeah, phew. I’m all good now.”
Well, in any case, it’s not as if slimes are the only thing in this dungeon. You’ve never seen her fazed by any other foe, no matter how strong, and she always gives her all in every fight—so there’s no problem.
“Oh, I’ll get you a new rag later, okay?”
You don’t particularly mind, but she’s already squeezed out the sopping cloth and put it in her bag. You decide to accept her graciousness for what it is. You ignore your second cousin, who’s looking at you and grinning for some reason, and heave a sigh. The battle is over. There are no more enemies. Your allies have sustained only minimal injuries and fatigue. No need to return to the surface yet. Having reached this conclusion, you turn to the two people at the very back of your party.
They’re wearing crude equipment—although, to be fair, it’s not so different from yours. Two young women. Their frightened faces make them look younger than they are, but you recall they’re fifteen or so, making them of age. You ask if they’re all right continuing the expedition, to which they nod back at you with exaggerated motions. “Y-yes, w-we’re fine.”
Good, then.
You aren’t exactly the most experienced adventurers in the world yourselves, and you and your companions can’t be constantly keeping an eye on these two younglings. All the more so during a fight—you’re starting to appreciate what a good idea it was putting them well in the back.
The other problem is where the girls wanted to go… Are you really going to be all right on the way?
One of the girls says, “Um, there’s a chamber just past here, and then…”
“Right,” says the other. “You go through it, and there’s another chamber… Everyone should be waiting in there, I think.”
Even as you nod, you grumble to yourself.
The difference in strength between those who have gone into the dungeon even once and those who haven’t is substantial. Even more so is the difference between those who have been down several times, like you, and those who have been here only once. You’re not sure what to think of these two who pushed this far despite having been into the dungeon just one time—reckless, perhaps.
Despite your experience, though, you’re hardly the most powerful things in this dungeon. You don’t exactly have a lot of extra energy or resources to help someone out, but you offered it to them anyway. And what are you helping them with? Helping their friends!
You can really feel the weight of a burden you chose to accept, and almost without realizing it, you sigh again.
You think back: Maybe it all started around the table in the tavern that morning.
“I’ve been thinkin’, and I think maybe it’s best to let the captain handle money matters,” Half-Elf Scout said, taking a couple of cards from his hand and looking for new ones.
“Well, I don’t really care who does it. Last thing we want is to die in the dungeon because we were busy arguing over money.” Myrmidon Monk took Half-Elf Scout’s cards and dealt him a couple of new ones off the top of the deck, his mandibles clacking all the while.
Here in the fortress city, it was not particularly unusual to see adventurers playing cards in the tavern. The soft light of a morning turning into an afternoon streamed through the windows, warming the air inside the tavern.
Over days and days of your party resting between adventures, this particular round table had become your de facto reserved spot. The moment you entered the building, the rabbit-eared waitresses would smile at you and lead you over to it.
Or at least they would until you and your party died.
You don’t exactly spend that long in the tavern at any given time, but you try to poke your head in when you have a break before and after an expedition. So this wasn’t the first time you had seen such things. A party of adventurers who had been sitting around a table in the morning wouldn’t come back that night. The table would still be empty the next morning, and the day after that, a different party with brand-new equipment would fill the seats.
That was just how life went here in the fortress city. No doubt someone else once sat at the table you now occupied. And no doubt someone else would sit at it after you were gone.
“How about you? What are you going to do?” The question brought you back from your reverie; you glanced down at the cards in your hand, then passed one to Myrmidon Monk. The man who suggested this round of the card game Fusion Blast dealt you another with the practiced air of a professional. You took it and, while trying to remain as expressionless as possible, asked if they really wanted you to handle all the money.
“Good question. As your older sister, I have to worry that you would blow it all on something silly.” Your second cousin put her chin in her hands and looked melancholy. You glared at her as if to say, Shut up. What had she been thinking, agreeing so eagerly to this game of cards? Anyway, you don’t think your second cousin is one to talk about the wise use of money.
“I guess it’s all right,” she said. “Managing money is a form of experience, too. Don’t worry—your big sister will be in your corner!”
That annoyed you, but it seemed to mean she was in favor of your holding the purse strings.
At that moment, it was just the four of you sitting around the table piled high with breakfast and playing cards. You would have to ask Female Bishop and Female Warrior their thoughts when they showed up, but in any case, consolidating the group’s resources definitely seemed like a good idea to you. Whether you were in charge of it or not, it was important that somebody had a grasp of the party’s overall budget. After all, the quality of one member’s gear didn’t affect them alone. It could be a deciding factor for whether the entire party was more or less likely to survive. If the warrior in the front row couldn’t afford to buy decent armor, it meant the life of the spell caster in the back row was in danger. As long as unequal spending didn’t become a problem, there were many advantages to having a communal purse in a party.
“You, changing cards?”
“Hmm… I think I’ll stand.” Your cousin tilted her head slightly; you questioned whether she understood the rules or not.
“I like your confidence,” Myrmidon Monk said, his compound eyes sparkling as he spread out his hand. “I’ve got Lightning.”
You played a Magic Missile combo, while Half-Elf Scout clicked his tongue and played a pair of Sleep cards.
Now only your cousin was left. At your urging, and with some reluctance, she turned her cards over. “Um, I think these all go together. You think so?”
Fusion Blast.
Myrmidon Monk silently put down his cards and pushed the entire pile of dried grapes over to her.
“Hee-hee-hee, thank you very much!”
“Gah! Sis, I can’t tell if you’re a world-class gambler or just lucky as hell!” Half-Elf Scout said. Frankly, you weren’t sure, either. In your experience, it was rare for her to pick things up quickly or thoroughly, but it never seemed to hurt her. In fact, as much as it killed you to think of her as an adventurer, she always seemed exceptionally lucky.
“H-hello… Sorry I’m late…” You heard footsteps pattering toward you despite the din of the tavern. Female Bishop was heading for your table, her hair disheveled and her face flushed. You’d learned from working with her that she seemed to prefer to wear her hair down. You pulled out a chair for her, and she almost fell into it, working a comb through her frazzled hair. “I went to the temple to offer my morning prayers, but it took longer than I expected…”
“Hee-hee, well, g’morning. Sometimes a little walk to the temple is just what the doctor ordered.” Female Warrior ambled up from behind Female Bishop.
Now your party was complete. Female Warrior cast a critical glance at the battle raging on the tabletop, then grinned. “Not playing any dirty tricks, are you?”
“Sure ain’t,” Half-Elf Scout said with a sour look. “If I was, Sis there wouldn’t be holding the whole damn pile!”
Female Warrior giggled and said something teasing about how silly he looked. Beside her, Female Bishop just seemed confused. Your cousin giggled at them and pushed her loot in their direction. “How about some dried grapes? I can’t possibly eat all these myself.”
You three men were still sleeping in the stables, while the girls shared the single large room upstairs with simple beds. It wasn’t precisely because they were women, but you thought some courtesy was called for. You had no way of knowing, though, how the ladies spent their evenings up in the big room together.
The men and women of your group had one thing in common: They didn’t all show up for breakfast at the same time just because they roomed together. It seemed like your cousin wanted to hurry up and eat this morning, so their group had split up and moved separately. On that note, you had a little trouble imagining Female Warrior being eager to go pray…
“Heh-heh, what is it?” She gave you an uncharacteristically cold smile, and you shook your head and said it was nothing. Maybe she was just being nice to Female Bishop. That made sense.
Anyway, it was more important to ask how they felt about the management of the party’s finances. You brought it up after they had both ordered breakfast, and Female Bishop clapped her hands and looked at you. “U-um, I think it would be best for our leader to oversee everything.” What could you say to such naive good faith?
“Ooh, I think she likes you,” Female Warrior teased, leaning against your arm. “Me, I could use some new gear, you know…?”
Aw, get off. You shook her away, and she leaned back, giggling.
“Gosh!” your cousin scoffed, staring daggers at you. She seemed to be offended that you could take such an attitude toward a young woman, but if she wanted to be mad at someone, it should have been Female Warrior, not you. Stupid second cousin.
Myrmidon Monk, apparently wishing to change the subject before things descended into name-calling, clacked his mandibles and asked, “So what do we do today?”
Judging by Female Warrior’s reaction, you didn’t think she had any objections to your holding the purse. So obviously, the next thing you had to do as leader was to decide the party’s business for the day.
“We have some money,” Myrmidon Monk said. “So do we do a little shopping? Or do we head back down because we’ve had a rest? I don’t care either way.”
“He’s right—we’ve got a nice little nest egg going. Might be time to start thinking about new equipment…” From his bag, Half-Elf Scout produced items you’d obtained on your last expedition and placed them on the table. Gold coins were easy enough, but when you got equipment from a treasure chest, you had to find out how much it was worth before you could do anything with it.
“Wouldn’t expect much from a chest on the first floor,” Myrmidon Monk said.
“True enough. Things might be different another level down…” Female Warrior nodded.
Whatever they wanted to say, enemies were the greatest limiting factor. You were just reaching a point where you could battle the creatures on the first floor more or less safely. In other words, you were finally a match for goblins and kobold skeletons. And from the least of the monsters in the dungeon naturally came the least of the treasures. Then again, anywhere outside the fortress city, the contents of their coffers would have been considered quite a windfall…
“Them’s the breaks, Cap. Slow and steady gets us to the lowest level!” Half-Elf Scout said, clenching his fist for emphasis. You agreed completely.
“All right, looks like it’s your time to shine!” your cousin added with a nod at Female Bishop.
“Certainly,” she answered. “If I may?” She closed her eyes and reached out to the various objects on the table. Her capacity to identify items, granted by the gods, was quite something. If you had no other way to figure out what something was, you could always ask a shop to identify it, but the service came with a steep price. Most adventurers weren’t businesspeople, and their ability to discern the true value of a certain item was, generally speaking, not very good. There was always the possibility, too, that what seemed like a rusted or worn piece of junk at first glance might actually be a magical weapon. If you wanted to make the most of your adventures here in the fortress city, the ability to identify items was essential.
For a young party like yours to have someone like Female Bishop was heartening indeed. And with her ability to use magic and miracles, she proved a stalwart ally in the dungeon as well. This line of thought always left you wondering why so many other adventurers had discounted her as a mere item identifier, but putting that aside…
“That’s just the way it is,” Myrmidon Monk said, speaking softly in deference to the concentrating Female Bishop. “They were paying her. And the customer’s always right, allegedly. It gives them a big head. Can happen to anyone.
“Plus, there’s the fact that she was defeated by goblins.” These last words were little more than a whisper. But, you thought, it happens. No one wins every battle.
“Then there are the scruffy men you hear rumors of,” Myrmidon Monk continued.
Scruffy? You cocked your head at the unfamiliar word.
“They’re—y’know,” Half-Elf Scout said, “adventurers. Sort of. But they became so obsessed with money that now they see even their colleagues as nothing but potential sources of coin.”
“Are there really people like that?” your cousin asked, her eyes wide as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She wasn’t accustomed to thinking of people as capable of such evil. You always thought that was one of her strengths.
As for you, though, it didn’t seem too shocking. People weren’t as special as they liked to think. Not the good ones and not the bad ones. Anyhow, shady work was an undeniable part of how the world worked. The devil made me do it —that’s what people often said.
“Oh, yes there are,” said Female Warrior, to your surprise, her voice quiet but unmistakable. “The scruffy men really do exist.” She sounded like a child who had seen a ghost, who was insisting, fearful and sullen, that it hadn’t only been her imagination even as the adults laughed over her. You nodded. If Female Warrior said they existed, then you were sure they did.
She didn’t say anything more, though, and you simply waited for the identification to be done. When she was ready to talk, she would. This was no time to press her.
So when she turned a clearly forced smile on you, you didn’t make a big deal about it. “Well, aren’t we having fun? Like eager kids.” Even if she was just trying to change the subject, she wasn’t wrong—you were eager to find out what all this stuff was. It was your loot from the dungeon, after all. You were perfectly well aware that it wouldn’t be anything too impressive, but that couldn’t stop the twinge of excitement you felt. You had no complaints about your ordinary sword, but suppose you could lay your hands on one of the magical blades spoken of in legends… It was impossible to stay completely calm at the thought.
“Did we even find any swords last time we were down there?” your second cousin wondered with a puzzled look, but you shot back that there was nothing wrong with hoping. You had found some mysterious weapons, and dreaming a little was perfectly normal. That, at least, was free.
After a time, Female Bishop looked up, wiping the sweat from her brow and letting out a breath. “I’m finished. But…”
You leaned forward. ‘Thanks. How was it?’ You were very curious. Katanas—were there any katanas?
“No, er… I’m afraid not. Some Rusty Chain Mail and Rotten Leather Armor…”
What a mess. Female Bishop looked on, a little lost, as you groaned and suggested the party sell everything—not much else to do. At least you would still get some income. Yes, that was what counted. Junk like this deserved to be sold.
“Don’t suppose it would do us any good to haul it around. More to be gained by just selling it all off.”
“Yeah, the man’s right.”
The other guys patted your shoulder consolingly, but you knew perfectly well that they were smiling. You gave them a glare, only to be greeted by chuckling from your cousin. “How about we take today off, then?” she said.
“Yay, shopping trip!” Female Warrior exclaimed with all the enthusiasm of a little girl. Whether she meant it or not was difficult to discern.
Still, it fell to you to make the final call. You could send everyone into town. Invite someone else along with you. Deliberately go out on your own.
What to do; what to do…
You were just about to open your mouth when a girl shouted, “P-please! Somebody help us!” Her cry could barely cut through the clamor of the tavern; it was swallowed up almost immediately. A few of the adventurers hanging out at the bar glanced toward the doorway, but nothing else happened. It wasn’t out of a lack of humanity. More like a simple judgment that there was probably nothing to be gained by doing anything.
When you glanced over, you saw two young women, looking truly pitiful. One had her hair bundled cutely, while the other kept her long tresses neatly together. They were…not warriors, you suspected. They didn’t look strong enough. But they were certainly adventurers. You wondered, back when you were a novice (not that you were all that experienced now), if you had looked much like them. They were dressed in the cheapest gear that could be found at market, their bodies soft and lacking in definition. They squeezed each other’s hands, desperate not to let go, and they couldn’t disguise their terrified trembling.
But what caught your attention was their eyes. The girls with their neatly coiffed hair were pushing aside their fear to peer desperately around the tavern. In spite of the long-haired girl saying, “I told you it was useless.”
You let out a breath and looked around at your companions. Myrmidon Monk was the first to speak: “I don’t care either way.”
That settled it, then. With your other party members looking on grimly, you called out to the girls, asking what was the matter.
The face of the girl with her hair tied back lit up, while that of her companion went stiff.
“U-um, well, we, we need to rescue someone…”
Hrm. You put on a deeply thoughtful expression and stroked your chin pointedly. So this was about some friend who went into the dungeon and never came back?
“Oh, no, our friends are just fine…,” the girl with the tail said, her voice going up an octave. “They just can’t…quite move…”
“So we came here to…find some help…,” the girl with the long hair continued, and you felt your eyes widen.
“Whoa, so the two of you got out of that dungeon by yourselves?! That’s some trick!” Half-Elf Scout beckoned the girls over to your table, then called a waitress and ordered a couple of glasses of warm milk. Myrmidon Monk clacked his mandibles together in what sounded very much like a tsk but dutifully grabbed a couple of chairs from the next table all the same. The girls found themselves sandwiched between the two men.
“………” You let out another breath; from the corner of your eye, you could see Female Bishop looking at the floor so the girls wouldn’t see her face.
“Maybe you could tell us what happened?” Leave it to your cousin to find a natural way to guide the conversation at a time like this.
The girls sipped at their milk, holding the mugs with both hands, clearly deeply relieved. Your cousin had scored a critical hit almost without realizing it. The two girls looked at each other, unsure who should talk, until finally one of them squeaked out, “Um, we were friends from the same orphanage, and, er…we decided to become adventurers.”
“Oh-ho,” Female Warrior said in a quiet, encouraging voice. The girls flinched, a little overwhelmed, but they managed to continue. In short, their story was this:
There had been six of them total. All women, all of whom had left the orphanage at fifteen years old and agreed to become adventurers. In this era when the Death held sway, they had scant prospects for the future, so they felt it best to make what fortune they could in the dungeon. Thankfully for them, their orphanage had been one of those associated with a temple, so they had some education and knew how to pray. They were better equipped (they concluded after considerable thought) than some youngsters who didn’t know how to do anything except swing a stick. And so, several days later, they had arrived at last in the fortress city and joined the ranks of adventurers.
The rest hardly needed to be said. They had gotten their gear, made their first trip into the dungeon, fought a battle…
“And after defeating the monsters in that first room, we felt like we could keep going…” Even you noticed that Myrmidon Monk seemed to be uncommonly, and perhaps unintentionally, paying full attention to their story. “So we decided to keep going farther, but then…”
One of the party members had noticed it before the others: a dull thump that could be felt in their innards. The shock wave that came a moment later, nobody missed.
“Don’t think there’s anything on the first floor that uses magic like that— Musta been a bomb,” Half-Elf Scout whispered.
“Yes,” the girl with the tied-back hair replied with a nod. “So we thought maybe some other adventurers were in trouble…”
“Our older sister—the party leader—she said we should go take a look.”
You muttered that all this seemed very unusual. Not just their party going to help someone they had never met but even the idea of encountering other adventurers in the maze. But you were sure they hadn’t realized that. Not their first time in the dungeon.
You thought it must be the miasma in the labyrinth that addled the senses and prevented parties from meeting one another. It left adventurers without a great deal of interest in working with other groups—though luckily for these people, it wasn’t impossible. You’d been down in the dungeon a number of times by this point, even if it was only to the first floor, and you had never once encountered another adventuring group.
“And then what happened?” your cousin asked, pushing the conversation along even as you sat lost in thought. Her calm tone of voice made the girls more relaxed as well.
“Well, we looked, you know, in some of the nearby rooms.” Myrmidon Monk’s face had gone grim again. “And then we found them.”
“There… There were so many wounded people. Only one was okay…”
You suspected they had been injured in battle, near collapse, but were desperate not to go home empty-handed, so they had opened a treasure chest with too much haste. You thought back to your own first day. Female Warrior had been wounded on the way back, after you had already gotten your spoils, but if it had been during the fight in the chamber…
“We wondered what to do…”
The girls had been completely overwhelmed, confronted with the devastating scene before them. They couldn’t simply abandon the dead. But there were also several seriously wounded present. They had been profoundly lucky to reach that room safely, but that day was their very first adventure. Even they understood that getting back to the surface with everyone in tow would be a tall order. And so…
“So she and I came here to find help…”
You involuntarily let out a sigh. Although you weren’t sure if it was one of admiration or exasperation. To brave the underground world, just the two of them…!
“Ignorance really is bliss,” Myrmidon Monk muttered. Was it reckless—rash—ridiculous? Whatever it was, you agreed with him.
But in any event, that was what had led to the sight currently in front of you. Two exhausted young women taking anxious sips of milk. Now that you’d heard their story, simply turning them down flat would be—well, not impossible. The reality was that their situation had nothing to do with you personally. And yet…
“…”
As you sat there thinking, someone tugged gently on your sleeve. You looked down to see Female Bishop, reaching out with a slim arm. To one side, your second cousin was practically champing at the bit to get going. As for Half-Elf Scout, he was grinning, while Myrmidon Monk shrugged as if to say, Do whatever you want.
“…You want to know what I think…?” Female Warrior said finally, and after a beat, she grinned. “I think the manly thing to do would be to help out a couple of damsels in distress, don’t you?”
It sounded like it was settled.
You rose to your feet with a wry smile and hung your sword at your hip.
“Wha—?”
“Oh…”
The girls looked up at you in surprise. You scratched your cheek a bit awkwardly. You had been just about to decide whether you’d go into the dungeon today or not. What’s more, you thought of yourself as a man who had more than self-interest at heart—and an adventurer to boot.
When you see everyone has collected themselves, you urge the group to continue. Everyone abandons their various forms of rest and relaxation inside the camp and gets to their feet. You call it camp, but it doesn’t involve a tent like it would on the surface. Instead, you draw a circle with holy water from the temple, which you can rest safely within.
The effects won’t last very long, but it keeps you safe from wandering monsters and gives you a chance to catch your breath. It’s all too easy to lose your focus, so frequent rest breaks are crucial. However, sometimes, if you fall into a trap and immediately camp down as you try to ascertain the situation, you can end up falling into the same trap again. Perhaps it could be said that the real law of this dungeon is to always keep a cool head.
There’s nothing at all to help tell the passage of time down in this shadowy labyrinth.
The faint white wire frame just visible through the dark is everything. There is no sound, no sense of other living beings; if you let your mind wander, you might suddenly feel as if the entire world has simply stopped.
The only things on which you can base any judgment are your party’s vitality, their spirit, and your own hazy focus. You can sympathize with how it must feel for adventurers who have been done in by wandering monsters down here.
This world is a very simple place. Your level determines everything. The only rule is victory or death. It’s certainly easy enough to be swept along by the atmosphere down here, an aura controlled by the Death.
“I can’t believe you made it this far on your first adventure…”
You snap out of your reverie. Your cousin is talking to the two young women where they’re crouched down, trying to comfort them. “But you need to be more careful next time!” Salient advice indeed. If it wasn’t your second cousin giving it!
But then, it’s helpful of your cousin to be looking after newer adventurers (what an odd thought) this way. You chuckle, down in your throat where no one will hear you, and then focus on how things are going with the rest of your party. You figure your cousin is still fine on spells, but you’re not sure about everyone else.
“I’ve still got miracles. Stay or go, I’m good,” Myrmidon Monk says flatly.
“I am much the same… I have some spells and miracles remaining as well,” Female Bishop replies, nodding assiduously. “Oh, but…” She suddenly trails off. Maybe her vitality is low, or perhaps there’s some other problem. When you ask, she looks at the ground in embarrassment. “I’m…er, I’m a little worried about the map.”
“Very well. Give it here—let me have a look,” Myrmidon Monk says, clacking his mandibles and reaching out; Female Bishop hesitantly hands the map to him. You aren’t too worried; you know how neat her work is. But it seems she doesn’t share your confidence. You don’t exactly blame her. Confidence isn’t actually that easy to come by. If having Myrmidon Monk check her work will make her feel better, that’s perfectly fine.
“Hey, Captain, I think you’re getting the hang of this leadership business,” Half-Elf Scout says, pounding you on the shoulder with a grand gesture and interrupting your thoughts. What could he be talking about? You give him a pointed frown, and he wipes the smile off his face.
Of course, it doesn’t feel bad to you. You grin yourself and take a look at your other companions. Female Bishop might be the only one who asked for confirmation, but the same idea applies to everyone: It never hurts to have someone else double-check your equipment and health. And often, that responsibility falls to the party leader—that is, you.
“Ahhh, I’m fine,” Half-Elf Scout says, patting the knife at his belt. “I get to stay in the back row, and it’s not like we’ve seen a bunch of treasure chests.”
Even so, you know part of his attention has been directed behind him, where he dutifully keeps one eye on the new girls. Splitting your concentration that way can take a toll. Those who claim scouts and thieves are just walking lockpicks have no idea what they’re talking about. It certainly isn’t true of the one you work with, at least.
“Gotta say, though, I’m pretty surprised,” Half-Elf Scout remarks, almost as an afterthought. You ask what about. “Aw, nothin’,” he replies. “Just never imagined our lady over there would go along with a rescue mission.”
“Oh yeah?” Female Warrior, suddenly the subject of conversation, smiles indulgently. “I just thought if I was the leader, I’d probably want to go rescue them… And how could I object anyway?”
“Sure, sure, that’s fine,” Half-Elf Scout responds, looking like he’s not sure what else to say. Female Warrior doesn’t stop smiling, but you get the distinct impression she doesn’t intend to say anything more on the subject. She has the aura of a fighter who doesn’t plan on letting the opponent too close. You look at her equipment, which still reeks faintly of slime. The battle earlier doesn’t seem to have done too much damage, though.
“Man, if slimes had heads, I’d chop ’em right off—believe me!” Half-Elf Scout says.
“Hey. Watch it, now… Or do you want me to get angry?”
Half-Elf Scout sounded like he was only teasing, trying to mend the party’s mood, but Female Warrior brandishes her spear at him. She looks very serious about it, which causes you to smirk and remark that it’s all good, as long as things don’t get out of hand.
Now then, you’ve taken care of the rest of your party, but you can’t forget to do the same for yourself. You cinch down the fasteners of your armor, which you had come a little loose; drawing the sword at your hip; you check all the rivets. Finally, you use some spittle to polish the leather-wrapped hilt, making sure it’s rubbed in well so it won’t slip in your hand.
A chamber door stands before you.
According to the new girls, the people you’re trying to rescue are waiting just ahead. But it would be a disaster if you had an accident now. You have to be careful. You call your cousin over, and she walks up to you with a bright smile. “Sure thing—just let your big sis handle it!”
Blasted second cousin.
Ignoring Female Warrior’s smirk, you submit to your cousin as she checks your equipment. Her slim, pale fingers dance over connections and fastenings until she nods. “Yep, looks good. But I thought all the monsters in this room were supposed to be dead? It’ll be fine, right?”
“No,” Myrmidon Monk says, shaking his head. “We can’t assume that.”
Mm. You settle your grip on your katana, listening closely to Myrmidon Monk.
“Defeated monsters disappear for a while, but eventually they ‘respawn.’”
That is the whole mechanism by which this dungeon and its endless supply of monsters—and treasure—works.
Monsters appear in these chambers, and treasure chests appear along with them. The phenomenon would be all the more unsettling, you think, if it turned out not to be man-made. That’s what has you so convinced that the Death is likewise controlled by someone or something. Has no one else ever had the same thought? Or perhaps they have and have simply preferred to enjoy the endless supply of loot without thinking too hard about it. But at the same time, that’s why it’s such slow going working your way through the dungeon. At least, you think so.
“True enough. I’m all for being able to make tons of money, but this dungeon sure is a weird place.” Half-Elf Scout lines up in the back row, holding his dagger in an ice-pick grip and rotating his arms to loosen them.
Beside him, Female Bishop is breathing deeply, trying to steel her heart so she’ll be able to pray for spells and miracles. “I hope… I hope it’s not goblins,” she says, a tremble of anxiety in her voice.
You think goblins make certain things easier, and depending on their numbers, the five of you together should be able to deal with them. You tell her, then, that there’s nothing to worry about, and she nods uncertainly.
“When he’s right, he’s right,” your cousin says brightly. “We’re all here for you, so everything will be fine!” She smiles. It’s a talent of hers, this ability to sound so sure of something for which there is no evident proof.
You shake your head, somewhat annoyed, then glance at Female Warrior.
“Ready whenever you are,” she says. Just that. She has her lance up, and her armor and equipment are set. You nod, then kick down the door with all your strength and rush into the room. The door collapses inward with a crash.
You charge into the darkness, where you discover a group of humanoid creatures.
The scruffy men!
You bat away the silver flash from the darkness, bringing your sword around in a great sideward sweep as you do so. You don’t feel it strike anything. You didn’t expect to, of course; you’re just trying to keep the enemies at bay. There are five—no, six of them. And just three of you in the front to keep them in check.
You move forward quickly, gauging the distance carefully, taking up a spot where you can engage the two of them who have pushed through your ranks.
So they are human.
From up close, you can see it. Their clothes are dusty, their armor is just leather, and they carry daggers. At a glance, you could almost mistake them for adventurers, but eyes that sparkle with malice betray that impression.
“Wh-what should we do…?!” Female Bishop cries from behind you, distraught. You answer back: ‘Anything.’
These men took up arms against adventurers in the dungeon. They could hardly profess surprise if they got cut down.
“They’re nothin’ more than highwaymen…” Half-Elf Scout has already accepted what has to be done. You can tell he’s used to this.
One of the men rushes at you while you’re conversing; you catch his blade with the tip of your sword and flick it away. You need to draw the enemies to yourself. You slide closer, never letting your attention lapse, taking quick, shallow breaths.
They say that a human is at their most vulnerable when they’ve just exhaled. Before the movement, after. You have to read the breath.
‘Could these really be the scruffy men we were told of?’
“I’m…not…sure!” Female Warrior sounds uncertain but punctuates her reply with a couple of stabs of her spear. In these dungeon chambers, the weapon’s long reach is an advantage. Its sharp, thrusting tip can control a couple of squares, keeping the enemy from getting too close.
“I don’t care what they are!” Myrmidon Monk raises his curved blade at an angle, holding it in a reverse grip as he prepares to parry. “If they’re not undead, then we can kill them, so let’s do it!”
You face the two creatures—you think of them that way even now that you know they’re human—and wait for them to move, imagining yourself as a wall. Female Warrior is in her element, but direct combat isn’t Myrmidon Monk’s forte, and he won’t be able to keep this up for long.
You want to take care of your opponents as quickly as possible and go support him, but this isn’t exactly a walk in the park for you, either. The two scruffy men, one from the right and one from the left, come charging at you, matching their pace to each other. If you stop one of them, the other will get you; if you try to dodge them both, they’ll have an opening that leads straight to your party’s back row—that seems to be their plan.
There’s no room for error.
You swing your sword with your left hand, stopping the attack from that side; with your right hand free, you grab the dagger at your belt and bring it up. There’s a shing! as the hilt catches a blade. You push the dagger against the weight bearing down on it. Just in the nick of time, you feel a shock run through your right hand, the one holding the dagger, and there’s a sound of metal on metal.
True, you had to improvise, but you still can’t help wondering what your mentor would say if they saw this. It’s an awfully poor excuse for a two-sword style.
Nonetheless, you smile as you drop your hips, pointing the blades at the enemies to either side of you. Few are those who would heedlessly rush in with a sharp weapon pointed directly at them. You quickly glance to one side, then the other, and start to close the distance with shuffling steps.
If they move, you’ll exploit their moment of vulnerability to cut them down. If they don’t move, you’ll go on the attack at your leisure.
One of the men finally steels himself and flies at you, brandishing a dagger, and you meet him head-on. Right, left. Breathe in, breathe out. Let the sweat drip; just coordinate your blades with those attacks. At this moment, you are like a tree rooted to this spot. You just move your arms like branches tossed about by gusts of wind.
The law of averages is against your survival. If a third enemy was to join the fray, you’d be done for. And even as it is, you’re not sure how long you can support the weight of your katana in a single hand.
But then again, you’re not alone, either.
“I guess when you have to act…you have to act!” Female Bishop still doesn’t sound quite sure.
“…Yeah, let’s do it!” your cousin responds, seemingly talking as much to herself as to Female Bishop. “Sleep, together, in two moves!”
“Right!”
You can’t be upset with the girls for coming late to the action. For one thing, you don’t have any time to waste, but more to the point, you know how long it takes for spell casters to achieve the concentration they need.
One of the girls raises a short staff, the other the sword and scales, and together they intone words of true power.
“Somnus! Sleep.”
“Nebula! Fog.”
““Oriens! Arise.”” The girls intone this last word together, the chamber ringing with the sound.
In an instant, an uncanny mist fills the darkness of the dungeon. Magic that addles the mind and brings on sleep is fearsome indeed, but how heartening to have it on your side. Before your eyes, the movements of your attackers grow slower, duller.
But even magic that can rewrite the very logic of the world is not all-powerful, not perfect.
“I’m sorry! I missed one!” A scruffy man slips past Myrmidon Monk and rushes for the back row. Maybe he was just lucky, or maybe he was especially alert; you don’t know, but he was able to resist the magic.
“Like hell…!” Before the glittering dagger can reach the women, Half-Elf Scout throws himself in front of the scruffy man. He might not be able to defeat the enemy, but as long as he focuses on defense, he can buy you some time.
Your first priority needs to be closing ranks.
“…!” Female Bishop, though pale and biting her lip, brandishes her sword and scales and stands in front of your cousin. She’s an adventurer and even has some training as a monk. She may not be very used to it, but she isn’t completely unable to handle herself in hand-to-hand combat—whoever claims monks are useless is a fool.
“Hrm?” Somehow, the feeling of crisis makes Half-Elf Scout’s voice sound louder than usual in your ears. He seems like he can hardly believe what he’s seeing. “Heck, this guy’s a rogue! And here I was all afraid he was a ninja!”
Does that mean they aren’t very well trained?!
Your next actions are quick as lightning. You knock aside the hands of the man in front of you, already reeling drunkenly on his feet, and drive your dagger into his throat. You let go of your weapon and kick the body to the ground, then sweep around with your katana and cleave the other man’s head from the chin upward. As you leap over the corpses and head for Myrmidon Monk’s position, you call for help.
“I’m on it!” Female Warrior answers easily, running past you in the other direction.
You notice out of the corner of your eye that she’s already taken care of her two scruffy men. Enemies who are barely awake are hardly opponents at all. No longer worried about the back row because you know you can leave it all to her, you grasp the hilt of your katana with both hands. Just ahead, you can see the back of the rogue Myrmidon Monk was fighting. You’ll be there in two steps, one.
With a great shout, you slice through the gap in the side of his leather armor. The rogue howls and rounds on you, but it’s too late. You raise your sword high, press forward, and deal a single terrible blow, cracking open his skull. A spray of blood and brains flies into the darkness of the maze, raining down around you.
“Thanks for the help. And…sorry. I screwed up there.”
As you steady your breathing, still alert, you shake your head slowly. Stopping one of the two he had to deal with was a good start. Now, as for the back row— But at the same moment you turn around, there’s an indistinct scream.
You wipe your katana and slide it back into its scabbard, then pull the dagger from the corpse’s throat and do the same for it. The sound of it clicking into its sheath signals the end of the fight.
All right, is everyone okay?
You come down from the agitation of battle, trying to keep your cool as well as possible as you take stock. All you hear is the echoing of your party’s ragged breathing in the gloom of the chamber. Blood and corpses spot the ground, but the six of you are still standing. Then there are the two girls you’re escorting. Eight of you altogether. Your party, your “quest givers,” and you are all safe.
“U-um, let me give you first aid…” You blink, surprised by Female Bishop’s request. You don’t seem to remember being wounded… “It’s, um, your hand…”
That makes you realize that the tingle you felt in your right hand from that first move is still there. You look down to realize it was more than a tingle. The enemy’s blade must have pierced through your glove at some point during the fight. There’s a trickle of blood running down your hand. The moment you notice it, you feel a pain that pulses in time with your heartbeat, and you grimace.
The cut isn’t deep and it certainly won’t be a matter of life and death. You’re sure your brain must have considered the pain irrelevant at the time. Still, it’s a slipup not to have noticed sooner. If there had been poison on that knife, things could have been much worse. And poison or no poison, if you had been one beat later with your block, you could have been in real danger.
“Are you okay?” your cousin asks anxiously from behind Female Bishop. You assure them both that you’re fine and remove your glove. The blood is welling up from a diagonal slash across the back of your hand; you press down on the wound. Stanching blood loss with pressure is the first step in any first aid.
“Well, that won’t do. You’ve got to look after yourself, too, you know,” Female Warrior teases with a snicker. But she’s right. You nod. If you were to get caught by a slime or something, that would be really terrible.
“Erk…” She reddens at your comeback.
“Hey,” your cousin says as if scolding a couple of bickering children. She jabs you in the side, albeit gently, and you ignore her.
Female Warrior looks like she’s about to say something else, but Myrmidon Monk puts a hand on her shoulder. “We’d better find those girls’ party. Unless you don’t mind leaving them. I don’t.”
“Yeah, sure… I’ll get you back later.”
You find those words inordinately threatening. Meanwhile, you smile as you watch Myrmidon Monk and his bodyguard, Female Warrior, head off to search the chamber.
“I—I think it was you who was in the wrong, leader…” If even Female Bishop thinks so, then it’s probably true. You’ll just have to quietly accept your just desserts with good humor.
If nothing else, the bleeding seems to have stopped. A miracle won’t be necessary in this case, but you would benefit from some medical attention.
“Don’t worry—I’ll take care of it,” Female Bishop says, seemingly almost happy about your request; she produces bandages and ointments from her bag. “If you don’t mind.” She soaks your wound with a splash from her canteen and starts working on you.
With her fingers, she dabs some ointment from a jar onto your hand to prevent festering, then carefully wraps a bandage around it. She does excellent work despite her inability to see, and you realize it was the right choice to let her handle this. Now, as for the role of your beloved scout…
“Looks like they were doin’ well for themselves, for a bunch of good-for-nothings.” Half-Elf Scout comes back from rifling through the rogues’ bags, looking very pleased. He tosses a leather pouch to you, and it jangles as you catch it in your left hand. You can feel coins inside.
“Better strip off their armor and equipment, too. Might get us a little something.”
Half-Elf Scout gives you a toothy grin, and you nod at him. You accepted this rescue mission knowing there was no reward, but if you can make a bit of a profit along the way, so much the better. When you say so, Half-Elf Scout grins even wider. “Afraid there weren’t any single-edged sabers like you’re hoping for, Cap.”
Bah. You’re not upset, not really. But still—bah. You shake your head pointedly, but you hear giggling from a corner of the room. The two girls, who have been silent and grim until this moment, are suddenly smiling and laughing. When one of them meets your eye, she says, “S-sorry,” and shrinks into herself, but you shake your head and say you don’t mind.
The situation might be dire, but it won’t be improved by moping about it. That’s one of the things you like to think you’ve learned from your time in the dungeon.
“That’s true,” Female Bishop says. “B-besides, we won’t know for sure until we identify everything, will we?” She’s fighting to hide her own smile. As for your second cousin, she won’t look at you, but her shoulders are quaking.
Sheesh. You let out a breath, thank Female Bishop for her help, and rise to your feet. You see Female Warrior coming back alone.
“We found ’em. Everyone is safe, I think. Girls, your party’s all here.”
The girl with the tied-back hair and the girl with the long hair look at each other, their faces flooded with relief. You respond with an acknowledgment, then check the condition of your sword and tell your companions it’s time to move.
You know all too well what it means that Myrmidon Monk hasn’t come back.
“O my god of the roaming wind, bear off the pain of these wounds, that we might resume our journey.”
In the far corner of the chamber, you indeed find Myrmidon Monk invoking a Heal miracle. Inside a circle of holy water that appears to have been refreshed several times sit four young women looking petrified.
“Girls…!” The young women with you rush over, and when they’re satisfied that their companions are all right, they allow their faces to blossom with joy. There are hugs and shouts, and as far as you can tell, the women are exhausted and frightened but not hurt.
“All’s well that ends well,” your cousin says, heading over to the girls. “Come on—you must be tired. Get a drink and a bite to eat, okay? I have some food here.”
Damn, where was she hiding that?
Your cousin fishes her canteen out of her bag, along with various small baked goods.
“What? Treats can double as rations,” she says with a giggle and a glance at you. Stupid second cousin.
But whatever—it’s probably best to entrust the young ladies to your cousin’s ministrations. For you, the more pertinent problem is the other party, the one that inspired these events.
“It’s not good,” Myrmidon Monk says quietly, looking up a moment later, his mandibles clacking.
“…No luck?” Half-Elf Scout asks, pulling one of the big hempen bags out of his pouch.
“Two,” Myrmidon Monk says. “Another one’s seriously wounded, but I’ve managed to stabilize them with first aid and miracles. They’ll be all right if we can get them to the temple.”
“Perhaps if I add my miracles…?” Female Bishop offers hesitantly, but you shake your head. You all still have to get home. Given the chance of bumping into wandering monsters, you’d like to hold something in reserve.
“Of course…,” she says, nodding understanding. Then she adds in a whisper, “I hope it’s not goblins…”
You say that personally, you’d like to avoid any slimes, too, and pat her on the shoulder.
“That’s true…” The tension in her face relaxes.
Female Warrior puts a hand to her own cheek and exhales, defeated. “It’s not like I’m afraid of slimes. Just don’t like ’em… I mean that. Got it?”
You say that of course you believe her, then turn to the young women your cousin is tending to. The first person to stand as you approach has ringlets in her hair and looks to be the oldest of the girls; you assume she’s the leader.
“I’m so sorry, making you go to all this trouble to rescue us…” She places a hand on her white leather armor that swells with a generous chest and bows her head with perfect poise and grace. For someone from a temple orphanage, she certainly knows her etiquette. Surely, you think, someone this refined would have had paths open to them in life besides adventuring, but you don’t voice the thought. Every person has their own situation to deal with. You don’t want to be nosy.
In a clipped tone, you tell the girls what you mean to do next, the pace of your speech indicating how important you think it is not to stay here for too long. You say that you’re going to put the corpses in body bags, and the girls who are still living will unfortunately have to carry them. After all, you’re looking at escorting an entire party of six girls, plus two corpses and four wounded. Twelve additional people altogether, plus their belongings: far more than your party alone can handle.
Not least because previous experiments with large groups in the dungeon have shown that one never knows when the miasma down here might suddenly separate some from the rest.
“Huh? You want us to what?!” One of the girls balks at your suggestion, but her leader quickly shoots a reproving “Come on!” at her. The girl bows and apologizes, but you give a shake of your head and tell her it’s fine. They can leave the bodies here if they prefer. It’s all the same to you.
“Hey!” Myrmidon Monk clacks an objection when he overhears you, but you smile and shrug.
“Grrr, how could you say something so awful to a bunch of young women?!” your second cousin exclaims from her corner of the room, and that shuts you up.
Bah, grrr.
Privately cursing your second cousin, you crouch down and start packing one of the corpses into a body bag. You might not be able to carry them, but getting them bagged up would certainly be easiest with more hands. When the girls see you, they quickly go to help another wounded adventurer.
These guys were lucky in their own way.
The corpses of most adventurers who die in the dungeon simply stay there, to be shortly forgotten and lost. Such corpses might become undead, wandering about the maze, or be eaten by monsters, or—it is said—made to serve other wicked needs of those who dwell down here…
Having one’s body collected like this is chiefly the privilege of those who belong to large factions. Most adventurers can’t hope for anyone to come and retrieve them.
“We’ll have to be real careful heading back to the surface…,” Female Warrior says while you work, and she keeps a vigilant watch.
You agree completely.
It’s said that “the going is easy but the coming home a fright,” and it’s a given that you’re going to be moving far slower than usual. Easy pickings for wandering monsters. Considering there are no guarantees of victory, the ideal would be to avoid any such encounters…
“Sure hope we don’t run into any goblins…”
To your surprise, it’s Female Warrior who says this. She’s looking right at Female Bishop, who’s crouched down, praying for the deceased adventurers. You voice your agreement as you cinch shut the body bags, now filled with their gruesome load. And not just goblins. You hope you don’t run into any slimes, either.
“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” she responds, poking you in the leg with the butt of her spear. But there’s a smile on her face.
You rub the armor over your leg, even though it didn’t actually hurt, and start issuing orders.
“You got it, Cap,” Half-Elf Scout says, jogging over. “But listen, we aren’t planning to go busting into any rooms on the way home, do we?” He’s grinning as he asks.
Well, unless some very unfortunate situation demands it, you don’t have any intention or any spare energy to take detours. Half-Elf Scout nods when you explain this, then points at the hempen bags. “Then listen, with no chests to open, I don’t have much to do. And I’d feel bad not making myself useful, so let me haul one of these guys around.”
You smile wryly at his suggestion and nod. Half-Elf Scout happily tosses the body bag across his shoulders and exclaims, “All right!”
The leader of the young women, unsure whether to help or what to do, finally settles on a polite bow of her head. “Th-thank you…”
“Aw, it’s nothin’. Adventurers help each other out, you know? I think I heard that from our captain once.”
‘Help and help alike.’ With that brusque declaration, you set off walking, but you hear a snickering from behind you. You think your second cousin and Female Bishop are whispering about something. Bah.
Myrmidon Monk piles on: “…And how does it’s all the same to me fit into that?”
“Yeah, just you remember that when we get topside,” Female Warrior says, grinning like a cat. “Hey… You haven’t forgotten already, have you?”
You remain resolutely silent, alertly scanning the path as you start back into the dungeon halls. From the chamber into the corridor and then the route to the surface. Back the same way you came. Should be fine.
“Ah, um, sir? I think we take a right next,” Female Bishop says, running her fingers along the map. You nod and keep walking. Heading straight down the center of the wire-frame path, at this moment you feel as if you could take on any goblin or any slime.
What ultimately appears is a wandering skeleton—but it is no match for you and your companions.
“Ah, so it’s them,” the nun at the Trade God’s temple says coldly when she sees the bodies you and the girls have brought back. She opened the door immediately when you knocked, even though it was the middle of the night, and was kind enough to take the remains from you. Considering her graciousness, you can’t find it in you to get upset at her disinterested attitude.
The chapel looks pale and cold, illuminated by only a few candles and the light of the moons and stars filtering through the window. But even at this hour, you can see adventurers here and there in the stone room. People praying for either healing or repose for their comrades, you suppose. In other words, people like you aren’t an uncommon sight around here.
An acolyte, still bearing traces of youth, kneels next to the wounded and begins ministering to them with a practiced air. The girls and their party watch anxiously, unable to settle down. The nun regards all this with a chilly eye, then offers a “Oh, very well. I recognize these people, and they’ve been fairly generous in their donations.”
You flash a dry smile at this less-than-direct reference to money, but it also reminds you how powerful the stuff is. There are people here who will spare no effort to help you as long as you pay them—much more reliable than foolish, unrewarded devotion. Certainly better, at least, than the half-cocked rescue you and the girls pulled off.
“Think this means we’ll get a material expression of gratitude?” Half-Elf Scout says teasingly.
“Pssh,” your cousin admonishes him. “We didn’t do this for money, all right?”
“Yeah, sure, I know. Just sayin’.” Half-Elf Scout holds up his hands in surrender against your cousin’s scolding. Female Warrior giggles, and your scout scratches his head in embarrassment. “Nothing wrong with bringing it up, at least. We came out okay, but it was a rough trip, right?”
“That’s true. If anyone should get the gratitude, it’s not us”—Female Bishop’s sightless eyes rove around the room—“but rather these girls, I think.”
“Wha—?!” The leader of the young women, the girl with ringlets in her hair, jumps in surprise to find herself the subject of conversation. She waves her hand in front of her white-clad chest, as if waving away the idea. “N-no, we didn’t do anything…!”
“Of course you did. We merely helped you.” Female Bishop turns to you as if to say, Isn’t that right, leader?
The girl with the ringlets looks from Female Bishop to you and back again, uncertain. You think for a moment, then announce:
‘If you say you don’t need any reward that might be forthcoming, we’ll take it instead.’
You ignore Female Bishop’s surprised “Huh?” and continue calmly that you incurred expenses just like the girls did. It would be too much to expect a reward, but you did as much work or more than the girls. So if they say they don’t want whatever is offered, surely there’s nothing wrong with your taking it.
Female Bishop is quietly objecting “Oh” and “But…” in the face of this supremely clear logic. Your second cousin looks like she wants to say something, too, but you ignore her.
What’s more, you go on, the girls helped haul out the bodies, and there ought to be a reward for that.
“Oh…” The moment she hears this, Female Bishop’s face blossoms like a flower, as if she realizes she’s been laboring under a misunderstanding. “Y-yes, that’s right. A reward! Yes, from us!” She reaches out, groping a bit until she finds the hands of the girl with the curly hair. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?”
“Er, y-yes—ahem. Y-yes, thank you. That… That might.”
The girl nods unsteadily, to which Female Bishop replies with a joyful “Of course it would!”
“Ooh, Mr. Nice Guy,” Female Warrior drawls, putting a teasing hand on your cheek. But you claim not to know what she’s talking about. You make a show of checking the condition of the scabbard at your hip.
“I don’t care either way,” Myrmidon Monk says with a clack of his mandibles. His fingers quickly weave a sigil in the air, offering thanks toward the altar of the Trade God, and then he shrugs. “I just want to get home. Not interested in hanging around for something that doesn’t pay.”
But of course. You nod, then look at the nun, who has been watching you silently. Her eyes still look cold, yet then she smiles at you.
Even a pasted-on smile is still a smile.
“I like that attitude, everyone. I hope you’ll keep it up.”
You can’t tell whether she’s talking about the rescue or angling for a donation. But what’s clear is that she’s encouraging you. You smile back, bow slightly, and start heading out of the temple. Female Warrior follows you with light footsteps, and Female Bishop comes after her at a patter. Myrmidon Monk takes long, slow strides, while Half-Elf Scout looks relaxed but in fact moves quite precisely.
“Oh!” You hear your cousin exclaim before she scrambles after you. “Hey, that’s not nice, just leaving your big sister behind like that!”
‘Cousin, not sister.’ You smile as you correct her, then reach out and push open the temple door. You’re greeted by a cold breeze that caresses your cheek and then sweeps around behind you.
“U-um, excuse me!”
You turn, following the gust, to find the girls who asked for your help, led by the one with golden hair. They look nervous, working their fingers together uncertainly, but their words are clear and sure: “Th-thank you very much! W-we’ll keep working and learning…!”
“Yeah, so… So let’s adventure together again sometime!”
You laugh. Laugh and say, ‘Of course,’ then resume your gentle pace.
Twin moons shine in the sky, and the lights of the town glow so that you could almost imagine you were in the middle of the starry sky.
“Man, our captain knows how to look good when it counts,” Half-Elf Scout says with a grin, elbowing you gently in the ribs. You tell him to forget about it.
“I knew from the start he was a soft touch, but I’m beginning to think I joined the wrong party,” Female Warrior adds.
“Don’t I know it. No matter how old he gets, I can never take my eyes off him,” your cousin says.
Let them talk. You pretend not to hear a word they’re saying. Pfff. You can’t trust a thing your second cousin says anyway. Yeesh. Seriously.
image “Oh, I—I, er, think…it’s a good thing…” Female Bishop smiles—awkwardly, yes, but she smiles all the same.
You purse your lips and say that yes, it’s just fine, at which Myrmidon Monk clacks his mandibles especially loudly and says, “Pfah, it’s all fine. As long as you don’t screw up.”
At last you retire to your inn, considering the day’s unexpected adventure concluded. You know the pile of straw waiting for you in the stable isn’t an especially distinguished place to sleep. But you have a feeling that tonight, at least, you might sleep pretty well.
Exhausted, you may drop into unconsciousness without so much as a dream… But you think that isn’t such a bad thing in the end.
“Welcome, welcome!”
“Good morning!”
Even so, exhaustion can’t be banished in a day. Especially not when you spent half of it sleeping on straw.
You lean against your round table, groaning to yourself, the tavern filled with the morning babble of adventurers. The waitresses’ bright greetings fly this way and that overhead. You don’t think this will ever get easier, no matter how much experience you accumulate or how much training you do. Your whole body feels creaky, slow, as if you have lead in your veins instead of blood. But your head is clear. That helps the commotion around you resolve into meaningful words.
“Hey, did you hear? They say an army of the Death appeared on the frontier.”
“Ugh, so that’s it for this country, eh?”
“Nah, just bad news for a village or two. Goblins and wargs, ghouls, centaurs, and some lizardman mercenaries—that’s all there was.”
“Huh, it’s not even worth hunting down that army, then…”
“Yeah, nobody carries a treasure chest out in the field anyway. A waste of effort.”
“All right, what say we check out a chamber or two down on the first floor today?”
The adventurers are laughing and chatting together, not so much as a hint of unease in their voices. You pluck off a piece of straw you discover stuck to your clothes.
Not like you have anything to say about any of it.
You’re no different from them, as far as puttering around the first floor. Everyone has their own reason for being down there, whether out of a sense of crisis, or duty, or something else. They can do whatever they want, and so will you. No reason for you to start anything with them.
You suppress a sigh at this thought, letting your head loll from one side to the other on the table.
“Oh…”
Then you spot Female Bishop. Perhaps she was listening to the conversation, too; her face is composed but expressionless. It almost looks like she alone stands apart from the whole great crowd in this tavern. After a moment’s thought, you say good morning to her in a completely normal tone.
“Oh, um,” she says, fidgeting awkwardly, her mouth open as if she never expected this greeting. Then after a moment, she clears her throat with a delicate cough. “G-good morning, leader… That is you, isn’t it?”
You nod and say that yes, it is, and at last she smiles with relief. She isn’t completely blind, but it must not be easy for her to identify someone sitting silently at the table.
Female Bishop quickly sits down across from you but cocks her head, perplexed. “Where are the others?”
You left them in the stable. It didn’t look like they cared to join you for breakfast. You declare flatly that men who oversleep are men who may be left to their own devices.
“O-oh, I see…” You chuckle quietly, and she asks, “Is everything all right?” You say there’s no problem. You’re rather more curious as to why Female Bishop has come to the tavern alone. “Oh, yes. Actually, there was a little something I wanted to ask about the map…” So she came here early. With a bit of a sheepish grin, she digs something out of her bag.
You change places to better look at the map. Female Bishop spreads the roll of sheepskin parchment neatly on the tabletop, and you review it from above.
“I think we’ve covered most of the first floor by now. But this one spot…” She runs her pale fingers across the lines of the map. Zwip. You watch her with fresh admiration. To be able to read what’s on the page from just the feel of the paper and ink is quite a trick. Finally, her neatly trimmed nails arrive near the edge of the sheepskin, in territory unknown. “…What in the world do you suppose this is?”
The space she’s pointing to is blank, untouched by any mapping. It’s not because there’s no way to get there. If you were to follow the twisting hallways, you could reach it if you wanted. The dungeon—or at least this first floor of it—appears to be a perfect square, so you don’t believe this area is solid rock. But for some reason, you’ve never set foot there yet. And eavesdrop as you might on other adventurers’ conversations, nobody seems to talk about this particular place.
Well, now… You scratch your chin, thinking. You already know where the stairway down to the second level is, and you have all the information you need. Whether you mean to make more money or continue your exploration, you have no special reason to head over to that blank space. And yet…
“It nags at you, doesn’t it?”
Yes, yes it does.
Although your primary concern is the way of the sword, you are still an adventurer. And no true adventurer lacks a sense of curiosity.
Of course, curiosity has led many an adventurer to their doom. For those who run illegally through the shadows, you hear, untoward interest in their clients’ backgrounds can cause them to disappear.
Ultimately, you could call this a part of your own training. A leader’s job is to be fully cognizant of their party’s current level, their teammates’ abilities, and the prospective challenges of any place they’re going to take them. So the wise thing to do would be to start by getting some information about this blank space, but…
“That place? That’s a dark zone.”
The answer comes almost as a gift from heaven. You look up from the map at the unexpected voice to find a handsome man with golden hair standing there. It’s the young lord—the Knight of Diamonds you ran into right when you first got here.
“You can’t even see the wire frame of the dungeon in there,” he says, tapping the space on the map. “I hear no one’s ever come back from that area.” He shrugs. “There must be something there, but if you get the idea that you’re the one who’s going to figure it all out… Well, I’d call that egotism at best.”
“I see…,” Female Bishop responds, knitting her brow in a frown. “In other words, whatever it is, it would probably be a tall order for us.” You nod as well. Then you congratulate the knight on his discovery of the third floor.
The Knight of Diamonds seems almost caught off guard by your words; his eyes widen a little, and he scratches his cheek self-consciously. “I won’t say it was nothing, but… Well, the dice simply rolled in our favor.” Coming from someone who stands on the literal front line of the dungeon, this could be taken as less modesty than provocation. What prevents it from feeling that way is the young man’s well-known virtue.
Then the knight shifts in place, giving you both a deep, elegant bow of his head. “You were of great help to me and mine last night. I’m the one who should be thanking you from the bottom of my heart.”
Well, now. You make a puzzled sound. True, you rescued some adventurers from the dungeon last night, but were they under this man’s command? It would be unusual for such a group to have faced destruction on the very first floor. Above all, you don’t remember seeing him yesterday. So what could he mean?
The Knight of Diamonds offers with some embarrassment, “Ah, no, they’re a secondary unit—or perhaps I should say reserve forces. Vassals of mine, you see…” They actually went into the dungeon without so much as a scout—perhaps afraid of falling behind on the glory.
You watch him as he speaks, and you realize just how young he is. You find him considerably less intimidating than the first time you met. Maybe your experience in the dungeon is telling. In fact, he might even be younger than you. Just fifteen or sixteen, perhaps, only recently reaching adulthood—not so different from Female Bishop.
Speaking of whom, she offers a question at a rather unusual word. “Vassals, good sir…? I’ve heard the term, but…”
“Ah. Well… Even the third son of a poor noble family, it seems, must worry about servants and followers.” In his evident embarrassment, he’s saved from looking completely pathetic by the diamond armor that glitters on his body. It hardly looks to you like something a poor noble would wear, but, well, you and the nobility must have different ideas of what constitutes “poor.” To them, it probably still means richer than anything you can imagine. Probably.
You don’t particularly feel the need to pursue the issue further than that, and you ask instead why the knight is here.
“As I said, I wanted to thank you.” He sounds like it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Whatever you spent on that rescue mission, I’ll reimburse you for it, and I’m prepared to add a little extra as a sign of gratitude.”
You give a slow shake of your head. You practically feel giddy, in fact. You were merely subcontractors, so to speak; you have no right to any reward. If he wishes to pay anyone anything, it’s that party of young women who are entitled to it. If they refuse it, you and your party will accept the money to compensate you for your trouble.
“…Mm, is that so? I’ll do as you suggest, then,” the Knight of Diamonds says with another dip of his head; Female Bishop nods as if all this is perfectly just. You try your best not to seem too aware of her as you say with as much conviction as possible that adventurers must help each other.
“I see,” the Knight of Diamonds replies, nodding. “Fine words.” He smiles. “But the fact remains that I am grateful to you. If you ever need anything, tell me. I will help you however I can.” He gives you one more bow, then excuses himself and turns on his heel. The way his armor sparkles as he walks away makes you think that nobility, even in poverty, is something awfully impressive. You don’t believe you could ever learn to carry yourself the way he does…
“Huh, putting on airs again?”
At least not while Female Warrior, who’s finally appeared in the tavern, is standing there giggling to herself.
When you turn toward the giggle, you find all your companions already gathered.
Hrm. You turn your gaze to them, trying to pretend as if nothing significant has happened, giving them a look as if to say, Yes, what?
“We caught the part where you said we were—what was it? Subcontractors? And gave away our reward,” Female Warrior says, putting on a teasing pout.
Your cousin raises a disapproving finger. “That won’t do—you have to consult us first about these kinds of things.” She wags the finger. Grrr. Stupid second cousin. You glare at her, but she’s smiling for some reason. She seems to be under a kind of misapprehension, for you did indeed consult with them. Both her and her.
“Wait, what?!” Female Bishop is quite surprised to suddenly become the topic of conversation; you can see her eyes widen despite her bandage. “Um, well,” she says as you press her for confirmation. “Well…yes. He did consult with me before deciding.” She nods and even smiles.
Oh-ho. Now it’s your eyes that grow a little wider. You hadn’t expected her to back you up quite so assertively.
“Assertively, sir?”
W-well, yes. You nod pointedly, and she only smiles.
True, it’s absolutely true. The two of you consulted together and decided what to do. No problem. Or there shouldn’t be.
“Man, Cap, you know how to make an ally,” Half-Elf Scout says with an exaggerated shake of his head. His tone is reproving, but he’s grinning. Then he drops a creaking sack on the table, one veritably bursting at the seams. “Eh, not like we didn’t make any money this time—so no problem as far as I’m concerned.”
“All this is from yesterday…?” asks Female Bishop, her face shining as if she’s thrilled to have this work to do.
“Sure is,” the scout answers with a nod.
“May I examine it?” she asks and promptly takes the bag with a look of pleasure. After all, she’s in her element now, with the keen perception she has been granted as an identifier.
She runs her fingers over the surface of the equipment, almost in a caress, and although it’s no more and no less than what she’s done before, your cousin says happily: “Heh-heh, you look a lot more into this than you did when we first met.” She sounds proud, almost as if she was responsible for it. You nod. Though Female Bishop seems to have known a difficult life, she’s a good young woman.
The party sits around her at the table, and you roll up the map so it won’t get in the way of her work. You instruct her to let you know if there are any swords, at which Female Warrior puffs out her cheeks and grumbles, “Doubt it…”
Yes, but there’s always a chance. Say it is one in ten thousand. That means one out of every ten thousand times, you’d get what you wanted—and who knows, that one time might be the very first. Consider that piece of equipment right there, the one that practically has a question mark floating over it. When properly identified, it might be a sword.
“Yeah, sure.” Female Warrior shrugs, but you’re not sure she’s convinced.
“So? What are we doing today?” Myrmidon Monk asks clackingly once you’re all seated and have ordered your food. “Rest? Adventure? I don’t care either way.”
What, indeed. You cross your arms and think. Luckily, your communal purse is full to overflowing, and you aren’t worried about paying for your lodgings. The normal impulse would be not to slow down, but maybe that isn’t the best idea when you all exerted yourselves so much just the day before. You didn’t even expect to go out yesterday. So…
“I’d like to take a rest,” Female Warrior says before you can speak, making a show of rubbing her shoulders and sighing. “I’m awfully tired…”
You can hardly blame her, seeing as how she was attacked by slimes and everything.
“Hmph, you would say that,” she grumbles, turning a cold look on you.
She’s right, though; it’s a question of fatigue. You try to maintain your cool demeanor as you say so. Nobody goes down into the dungeon every single day. You should rest for today.
“Ooh, then I’m going to use today to study some spells!” your cousin says as soon as you suggest taking the day off.
Being gung ho is great and all, as long as it’s not just talk. At that, your cousin puffs out her ample chest as if the response should be obvious. “We can’t let those kids from yesterday show us up. Can we?”
“Oh, uh, a-are you talking to me?” Female Bishop looks up from where she was letting out a breath and wiping away some sweat after completing the identifications. By way of describing the results, she adds courteously to you, “No luck, I’m afraid.” Apparently, her way of saying there are no swords. What a letdown! “But you’re quite right. I’ll have to work on my magic studies, too…”
“Then we can work on them together!” Your cousin grabs Female Bishop’s hand even while the cleric is still shooting you concerned glances.
“Think I’ll go drop in on a friend o’ mine, then.”
“Feh, day off, huh? …Well, only leaves me one choice. Guess I’ll go see what’s up at the arena…”
The other men summarily ignore you; in fact, Myrmidon Monk can hardly hide his excitement.
Pfah. Fine. Fine. In this situation, there’s just one thing for you, the keeper of the party’s purse, to do. You’ll have to take the time to sell off the equipment you garnered from the dungeon yesterday—not that you especially regret it. But you’ll be alone…all alone! You ignore your friends’ amiable chat about how they’re going to spend their day off and pick up the sack.
“Say…” You feel a tug on your sleeve. You stop cold and turn toward the honeyed voice to find Female Warrior smiling at you. She’s pulling your arm toward that soft chest of hers, a flirtatious move she must have learned somewhere. It’s almost enough to leave you wondering whether she’s with Order or Chaos.
“I told you I’d pay you back, didn’t I?”
So why is it that, confronted with her beaming smile, you feel like a rat cornered by a cat? Yes, you do remember her saying something of the sort yesterday, if only vaguely…
“I wouldn’t mind a new set of armor… Hee-hee!”
It doesn’t sound like you can refuse, any more than you can choose what to do with your day off.
There’s only one thing people in the fortress city talk about: the dungeon. When they pass each other on the street, they talk about adventurers the way people in other cities talk about the weather. Oh, there’s a promising novice in town, they say, or they discuss the current state of exploration or speculate as to who might be the one to delve all the way to the bottom and confront the Death.
The knight who wears the diamond armor comes up especially often in these conversations. After all, he’s beautiful to look at, a handsome young lion. Of course young ladies would be intrigued by him.
“…” You walk along, letting the rumors fill your ears, while just ahead Female Warrior seems to be genuinely enjoying herself. Her hips draw little arcs as she walks, her heels clicking on the city streets. Other than the fact that she’s carrying a sword at her hip—a modicum of necessary protection—she could almost pass as any ordinary girl simply out enjoying the town.
“What—? Trying to get a peek at my butt?” She turns to you, her hair rippling as she smiles like a cat and giggles. You still aren’t sure whether the expression is sincere or not.
You shake your head and say no but also add that she looks like she’s having fun.
“You’re not wrong. I haven’t had much time to just relax since I came to this town.” And indeed, she sounds quite at leisure at this moment. The touch of affection in her voice makes you decide not to ask too many questions. Everyone has one or two things in their lives they would rather not talk about. You might say that as long as those things don’t bear on your own survival, then they’re none of your business. She can talk about them if and when she desires. You don’t have to know every single thing about someone before you can work with them.
Anyway. As she leads you deeper into town, you reflect on how complicated the place is. You’re not keen on just meandering around with no idea where you’re going. Surely, she could at least tell you the place she has in mind.
“Hmm? Didn’t I mention it earlier?” she says, giving you a puzzled look that makes her seem very young—and in fact, you realize, she is very young.
And no, she didn’t tell you. You say as much flatly. You assumed, from what she said at the tavern, that she had an armor shop in mind, though.
“Yeah, a place I’ve been to a few times. It’s got a good feel, this shop.”
Oh-ho. Your face relaxes, almost a smile, and you put a hand on your scabbard. A shop with a “good feel” to it might have some genuine masterworks in stock.
“Maybe,” she says when she sees the look on your face, although it’s not clear if she means it.
Best to hurry, then. Get there quickly and grab some gear.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m pretty sure it was…this way, I think.”
You can urge her forward as much as you want, but she’s still the only one who knows where you’re going. She trots along like a cat out for a walk, picking the route with the most sun. The fortress city might be as easy to get lost in as the dungeon itself, but there are still places that get light from the heavens.
You turn off the main road, then turn once or twice again and find yourself in a hidden corner of town.
Some children, obviously merchants’ sons and daughters, sit in a circle beside the road, competing at a game of tossing pebbles into the circle. Goodwives nearby do laundry in big barrels, treading on the wash as they chat together. This town might run on the loot that comes out of the dungeon, it might seem the province of adventurers and merchants, but there is still a routine here.
The hubbub of the streets fades as Female Warrior and you work your way along the side alleys, until presently you arrive at a cul-de-sac.
“Ah, here it is.” She smiles and points at the sign dangling above the door that clearly indicates an equipment shop. Creaking softly as it swings in the wind, the sign looks brand-new—but then, this whole city is quite recent. Or maybe it’s just hitting a certain age—
“I’m heading in,” Female Warrior says, interrupting your thoughts. She pushes open the door. “Wonder if the old man’s here today…”
And then suddenly, she disappears. Astonished, you take a closer look at the door only to discover it leads directly to a steep, narrow staircase heading downward.
“Heh-heh, what did I tell you? Good atmosphere, right?” Female Warrior giggles from halfway down the stairs.
You nod, then all but throw yourself into the gloom. You’re almost too solidly built to fit; getting down the stairs is a real challenge. As for Female Warrior, notwithstanding her generous endowment, she’s a lithe woman. Maybe it’s a biological difference between men and women or maybe a difference in level between the two of you. Or even just a question of being accustomed to it.
When you finally squeeze your way to the bottom of the stairs, you discover a smithy’s shop, dim but for a glowing fire. It’s a cramped space packed full of various kinds of gear, and you can hear a hammer pounding within. You can feel the heat of the fire on your skin.
“Hoh, it’s you, little miss.” The master of the place is bent over, deep in this room that feels like a chamber in the dungeon. He’s an old man boasting a beard and muscles so abundant, you could almost take him for a dwarf. He gives an interested sniff, wrinkles his face at Female Warrior, then looks at you. “Got a man with you today? Always knew you were the hunting type.”
“Sure do,” Female Warrior says, putting her hands together in front of her chest. “I was thinking I might wheedle him into buying me some new armor.”
“That right…? And?”
Well, now. It seems that last bit was directed at you.
“What’s the story with you, boss? Just a walking wallet?”
For a second, you don’t quite understand what he means, but these final words help you connect the dots. You’re looking for a bladed weapon, a sword. Something thin, sharp, likely to bend before it breaks.
The old man sticks out one weathered hand without a word. He’s saying, Show it to me, you surmise. You take the blade, scabbard and all, from your hip, ignoring Female Warrior’s interjection of “Wow, so heavy” and passing it to the old man.
“Hrmph, eastern make, eh?” He can tell just by the feel of it in his hand. Next, he draws the blade with a metallic ring. The shimmering steel reflects the orange light of the fire as he runs a finger along it, then presses it silently to the side of his neck. “Undistinguished but a solid piece of work. Don’t know who made it, but it ain’t easy to take care of. I can hone it for you, at least.”
Hmm. You stroke your chin, unsure what to say. Is he insulting you or praising you? If nothing else, you don’t feel malice from his review, and what he says isn’t wrong. You don’t think you need to let it get to you.
While you’re thinking, Female Warrior says smilingly to the old man, “So about this new armor… I was hoping for something that fits a little closer.”
“Hrm?”
“And if it didn’t make my shoulders so stiff, that would be nice. Mail could work, but even tied with a belt, it just pulls on the shoulders so hard…”
You keep their conversation in earshot as you cast a glance around the shop. The place seems to be stocked with every type of armor and weapon imaginable. Swords, spears, axes, sticks, staves. Helmets and shields, body armor and mantles, and even a few potions. Merchandise is stacked on shelves that stretch up to the ceiling.
You’ve never thought of yourself as a country bumpkin, but this is enough to make your head spin. There are cutting tools, of course, along with cleaving blades and swords that appear to be of immensely fine craftsmanship…
Hmm?
You get a funny feeling as you look around the shop. Most of the merchandise is brand-new, of course, or otherwise secondhand… But your eyes are drawn to something that appears new even though it bears signs of use.
“Novices don’t always last very long,” is all the old man offers when you remark on it. “In fact, lately, a lot of them have been dying. Lots of idiots out there. And simpleminded fools, too.”
Is that so?
“The idiots, they die. And the fools who think, I’m no idiot; I’m being nice and careful, they die, too.”
Ah. You shake your head as if to chase away the recognition that he could have been describing you not long ago. Sometimes a lone survivor would bring back their friends’ equipment and sell it. Or another party might find the bodies and strip them. In any event, there’s every chance that your sword, Female Warrior’s spear, or the other equipment your party carries could have wound up lining these shelves—or might still yet. Everything depends on your level and the gods’ dice.
You don’t precisely sympathize with the lost, nor are you frightened by the idea; there’s just a sort of cold emotionlessness inside you.
“Hello?” Your thoughts are interrupted, as so often, by Female Warrior, a smile in her voice. You glance at her and see she has a hand to her collar, clearly bored; her expression doesn’t change as she says, “I’m going to have my measurements taken now…”
Hmm. You cock your head. If that’s what she’s going to do, she should do it. You have no problem with that.
“Exactly how long are you planning to stand there?”
Oops.
There are no curtains or coverings anywhere in the store. You hurriedly toss the purse to her, then work your way back into the cramped staircase. You hear her giggling behind you, followed by an almost erotic rustle of cloth.
It seems to follow you all the way to the surface.
From somewhere deep in the fortress city, you gaze up at the blue sky, divided into squares. The clouds and the sun are the same as they always are, yet from here, they seem immensely high up, far away. You stand to one side of the door so as not to be in the way of other customers—not that you think any will come by.
The wind brings a breath of air bearing that special clarity of a city before noon. That even this vast, complex place should have fresh air must be a blessing of the Trade God. The bustle of the streets several blocks away reaches your ears. You hear children shouting and women chattering, although by the time their voices reach you, you can no longer make out the words. The sunlight is warm and comfortable, and you feel as if you were floating in the sea.
It’s almost impossible to believe the Death is lurking directly underfoot.
So long as you delve the dungeon—indeed, so long as you have anything to do with it—the Death will always be with you. It’s impossible to forget that. But if you did, maybe you could melt away into the peace here. You could spend your life crawling around the first floor of the dungeon, never too far from the entrance, making your living on the deaths of monsters. So long as you have no objective besides making money, you have no prospects, either. It would simply be death piled upon death. Perhaps then, when your days are like cold ashes, you could claim to have nothing to do with the Death…
“Hullo, mister. That’s the look of a man with nothing good on his mind if I ever saw it.”
The cheerful voice catches you by surprise, and although you don’t take up a fighting stance, you look to the side. The owner of the voice is beside and just below you. A diminutive figure in overclothes who doesn’t quite come up to your shoulders.
You ask who they are, but you’re not especially alarmed. They’re just out of range of you. If they meant to steal from you, they wouldn’t have said something first. And for the time being, they haven’t done anything to warrant you wanting to kill them. But then…the first problem with that is that the sword you always wear at your hip isn’t there now.
Would you be able to settle this problem with the dagger you normally carry for backup, if it came to that?
“Ooh, look who’s Mr. Worried,” the stranger says, apparently realizing that you’re sizing them up. They have a bit of a lisp. They laugh gaily.
Well, now. You’re puzzled; you don’t recognize the voice. You slowly turn toward them. The stranger is indeed wearing some kind of overgarment—you think it’s a woman, though. The gentle curves of her body are visible despite her clothes.
She has delicate limbs and a modest chest, but her body is firm, almost sculpted. There’s no mistaking it. You see only a few strands of golden hair peeking out from under her hood—that and a grinning smile.
image “No need to try to glare me into submission. I’m just a fan.”
You’re not sure what this means, but at the very least, this person doesn’t seem hostile. You ask her suspiciously about this “fan” business, trying to feel out what she really wants.
“Yep, a fan. Of adventurers, you see. I like to watch them, see what they do. And if I hear some news I think they might be interested in, I bring it to them.”
Hmm. A fan of you and your party would be a bit surprising, but it seems this person is an adventurer herself. You don’t precisely buy everything she’s saying, but you’re willing to listen.
“Let me tell you what’s been bothering you, mister.”
Her tell you? That bothers you, you inform her with a raised eyebrow.
“That right?” She laughs as though your suspicion means nothing to her, then says: “Newbie hunting.”
The wind gusts at just that moment, fwoosh.
‘Newbie hunting.’
You repeat the words out loud, not knowing exactly what they mean but feeling a chill just the same.
“That’s right,” she says. “You were attacked by those scruffy men down in the dungeon, weren’t you?”
You nod. Strictly speaking, you attacked them and finished them off, but, well, details.
“And there’s tell of people selling a bunch of almost brand-new equipment.”
You nod again. You think of what you saw and heard in the shop downstairs just moments ago.
“There are people who hunt novice adventurers down in the dungeon, then strip off their equipment.” You think you feel something like a flag going up in your mind as she speaks. “At the beginning, they did it at the tavern. Get the kids nice and drunk, everybody’s happy, then they’d take ’em out back, and bam.” She makes a horrifically comical gesture, whipping one of her pale arms out from under her mantle. It’s a theatrical move, certainly, but also a fairly effective representation of smashing someone’s head in with a club.
Lots of adventurers come to the fortress city. A novice’s life is cheap.
“Thing is, that’s against the law. So they learned to do the deed down in the dungeon. Then maybe it’s a monster’s fault, right?”
She seems to be seeking agreement, but you don’t respond. You do, however, mutter that it doesn’t make sense. These people may think of themselves as the hunters, but eventually they’ll become the hunted. That’s how monsters work down in the dungeon. Or at least, that’s what many adventurers believe. It might be dangerous, but they exist to be killed and deprived of their loot. Everyone knows that.
“Who’s to say? Maybe it’s not about profit or gain. Maybe they just enjoy the act. Maybe they’re possessed.”
‘Possessed.’ Once again you repeat: ‘possessed.’ But by what?
No, you don’t have to ask. You already know. It has to be…
“The Death.”
Even with the wind blowing, the words reach your ears clearly.
The Death.
You gaze up into the sky with its division into squares. Suddenly, it seems covered in the shadow of the Death that wells up out of the dungeon.
“I hear they have a hideout on the second floor of the dungeon. Watch out for yourself, eh, mister?” She cackles and waves a hand. Instead of answering, you grunt.
You’re the leader of a party now. A group of companions set on reaching the source of the Death and destroying it. You can’t let the prick of pride or a deluded little notion of justice draw you into unnecessary battles.
And yet… Newbie hunting.
The words seep into your heart, formless and creeping, inescapable. It’s as if the great wave of the Death that emanates from the dungeon has suddenly and unexpectedly taken on concrete form. It seems to you that if you’re going to reach the deepest depths of the dungeon, you won’t be able to avoid it.
After a few minutes’ thought, you slowly shake your head. This is for you to think about, but not for you to decide. You’re a leader now. So instead of making a choice, you ask her: Why tell you this?
“You know, mister, the answer’s obvious: There’s no real reason!” She laughs uproariously, as if to say, What an idiot you are! “It’s just how the dice roll of Fate and Chance turned out!” And then, before you can say another word, she dashes off.
You reach out, but all your hand grabs is empty air—she’s already vanished down the next side alley. You look at your empty hand, then pull it back angrily. What was it you meant to do if you had caught hold of her? You don’t know. This is completely unlike you. But still…
What to do now?
“Hey there, what’s the matter?”
The next ambush comes, as ever, from right next to you. Female Warrior has pushed open the creaking door and is looking at you curiously.
You shake your head and tell her it’s nothing; she emits a “hmm” and squeezes out of the stairwell. You see she’s wrapped in metal scale armor that fits her as neatly as ordinary clothes. The hem goes to just above her knees, and a belt is tied around her waist. Maybe that’s what makes the lines of her body so evident.
“Here, for you.” Before you can comment on her new armor, she tosses something at you. You instinctively catch it to discover it’s your purse and your sword, returned to its scabbard. You put the purse back in your pouch without checking the contents, then pull your sword just the slightest way out of its sheath. It catches the sunlight, a sharp, shining silver. You nod—this is good work —then click the sword back into place and hang it at your hip.
“…Mm, is that all?”
You say you don’t want to plant seeds of mistrust in your team by counting the money. She just hmms again. She sounds uninterested, but you can’t help feeling this is a thought-provoking reaction of its own. Anyway, if you start thinking that way, there’ll be no end to it. If she has something to say, she’ll say it.
“You know, it must be past noon already. I’m feeling a mite peckish…”
You consider for a second, then suggest that in that case, you should return to the tavern. There’s something you want to ask the others, and it’s a little late to be wandering around looking for someplace to eat with no particular place in mind. Then again, you’re not sure if the others will be at the tavern for lunch, considering how excited they all were to have a day off.
“Heh-heh. That’s fine, then.” She walks off, and you follow after. You turn down an alleyway, then double back, taking a route completely different from the one you came by—and then you’re back on the main street. But this was so much faster than the path you took on your way over. There are so many ways to get around here.
Just before you emerge onto the main thoroughfare, Female Warrior interjects softly, “Say…” She turns toward you, the sun, like the road, at her back, and she smiles. A ripple runs along her scale plates without so much as a sound, the brand-new metal catching the light and shining. “What do you think of my armor?”
You give some short response to this question, and she snickers.
But you, you have no idea what she herself thinks of it.
“See? I knew you needed to study more!”
That’s what your second cousin, pointing her finger at you, says upon returning that evening, very much true to form. You swat the finger away wearily and look down at the book open on the round table. You don’t know where she got it, but it appears to be a spell book.
It’s so thick and heavy that it needs a reading stand; with its ancient-looking metal cover, it practically oozes history. You pick it up and feel how heavy it is; it’s more suited to some library tower than this tavern.
Apparently, your cousin and Female Bishop, seated squarely beside her, have spent the entire day deep in study of this thing. You’re pleased that the party’s spell casters are devoted to improving themselves—but where in the world did they get this thing?
“A dark-elf tradesman got it for us. It will be helpful.” Female Bishop, from her place at the table, is unusually garrulous. Or maybe it isn’t that unusual. This is the true her—beaten and hidden it had been but is now coming to light.
“Heh-heh-heh, we can’t let those girls outdo us!” The “girls” your cousin refers to must be the ones from the orphanage. You never thought of yourself as an especially experienced adventurer, but the presence of people less experienced than you seems to have been a useful goad. Even you feel like you can’t rest on your laurels.
Not everyone in the fortress city agrees on this point, but most believe the Death has only one source. The Knight of Diamonds might find it before you, or perhaps those girls will overtake you from behind, but… In any event, only one party can solve the mystery and arrive at the root of the problem.
And it’s always possible that you might expire, still lost in the dream. Even if you’re down in the dungeon only for money—most adventurers are—you can still be swallowed up by the maze.
The Death.
The words are like a shadow that clings to you.
“He said it’s a secret text from another country,” your cousin says with a smile, apparently oblivious to how you’re feeling; Female Bishop nods. “It’s going to be very helpful.”
When you look closely, you see there’s a hint of color in her cheeks. Seems reading isn’t the only thing your cousin’s been doing at the bar.
Money. Yes. Need to think about money.
You give a gentle shake of your head in an effort to slough off the slight chill that’s been hanging on you all afternoon. You control the party’s collective finances, not the private money of its individual members. But still, two unworldly girls buying a mysterious book from a dark-elf trader? It seems a little fishy… Wondering aloud whether it really is some kind of secret heirloom text, you cast a doubtful eye on the book…
Aha.
Now you see why your second cousin would be so engrossed by it. You don’t know whether you could necessarily use everything in it just now, but a quick skim of the pages reveals any number of useful spells. No harm in learning these. Whoever this merchant might or might not have been, his wares seem to be legitimate. Then again, when you think about it, your cousin had Female Bishop with her, who has the power of identification. Would have been hard to pull one over on them.
“Heh-heh, what do you think? Does your sister know how to do her shopping or what?”
You ignore your second cousin (who’s currently puffing out her chest triumphantly) and close the spell book. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn a few more spells yourself for your next dive into the dungeon. For now, you’ve got your hands full with your sword, literally; you still have trouble using magic intuitively in the heat of battle.
You’re loath to give your cousin the satisfaction of admitting she’s right, but you agree that maybe you should study a little bit. You have to drag the words out of your own mouth, but you manage to ask the girls if you might be able to borrow this book sometime.
“Er, I…I think it’s quite all right. I don’t mind.”
“Sure, of course! Don’t worry—your big sis will keep a good, close eye on you until you learn everything!”
That would be your second cousin. You make a gesture indicating this conversation is over, then let out a breath. You have to get some funds from the party purse to cover your cousin’s expenses.
Half-Elf Scout watches your (in your case unwelcome) bit of banter with your cousin and laughs. “I gotta hand it to you. My head hurts just lookin’ at this thing.”
He had said he was going to go visit an acquaintance, and ended up coming back around evening. You smile and agree with him. Well, of course it’s difficult. The old tongue, the words of true power, used in casting magical spells isn’t anything like the everyday languages people speak now. Not to mention the descriptions of the spells are difficult; sometimes you feel the best you can hope for is to understand what little you can.
Half-Elf Scout listens to your explanation and nods enthusiastically. “I can understand it if I want to; I can. But I can’t just take a look and go, Aw, yeah, that makes sense. I ain’t one of those types. Gotta say, though, Cap, I wouldn’t mind learning to use a spell or two myself, y’know? Don’t have the brains for it, though.” Then he laughs. You give a dry smile yourself.
Knowing the words isn’t enough to use a magic spell. You need intelligence and perceptiveness. It’s a bit like it is for clerics, who can read scripture all day long and still their prayers might not reach the gods.
You ignore Female Bishop, who continues to nod and say that “it will be helpful,” and look at Myrmidon Monk instead.
“Seems fine either way…,” he says to your fishing for agreement, sounding even less interested than usual as he sinks into his chair. “At least when compared with thinking you’ve won, only to go buy a snack and find out you’ve lost.”
You see. That’s true. You nod—you absolutely couldn’t care less—and pour some wine from the jar into his cup. Myrmidon Monk takes the cup, gulps down the wine with a clack of his mandibles, then shakes his head, his antennae bobbing from side to side. “…My deity loves gambling, so why can’t I get a blessing over here?”
Fate, you suppose, is the answer. You give a noncommittal response and pour some wine into your own cup. Or perhaps it’s Chance. When it comes to the roll of the dice, even the gods…
“Hey…” You feel a tug on your sleeve, almost a sort of ambush; the hand was just there so suddenly. “Didn’t you say there was something you wanted to ask everyone?” It’s Female Warrior, who until a moment ago had been showing off her new armor to everyone, now that they’re all finally back. She must have finally gotten enough admiration to satisfy her, because now she’s sipping a cup of wine. She looks at you with her most ambiguous smile.
You give it a moment’s thought, then decide to say it.
‘Apparently, there are “newbie hunters” in the dungeon.’
Half-Elf Scout is the first to react. “Wha—? You talking about the scruffy men?”
You nod and say probably—the scruffy men, who supposedly have a base of operations on the second floor. Those rogues you dealt with last time out, hadn’t you all stumbled upon them right as they were busy trying to strip some novices of their armor?
“Now I get it,” Half-Elf Scout says, crossing his arms and making a face. He sits back in his chair.
Your cousin leans across the table, her eyes a little wider than usual. “Now you get what?”
“When I was out with my friend today, Sis,” the scout says, “we were walkin’ around town, but the whole place felt…funny.”
‘Funny?’ You cock your head, and he replies, “Yeah,” his face very serious. “Like there aren’t enough mid-levelers, like the new kids aren’t coming back up… The dungeon, I thought it was just that way.”
That makes sense. Many adventurers give up truly delving the dungeon, resigning themselves to making some money—but still. If there seems to be a great gap in experience, newbie hunters would explain it. Of course, plenty of people meet their doom by the monsters, traps, and simple confusion generated by the Death in the dungeon. Whether anyone is engaging in newbie hunting or not, the Death will continue to flow out of the labyrinth in all likelihood.
“Where’d you get this info exactly, Cap?”
Well…
Where did you hear it? You shake your head: You can’t seem to remember exactly.
It was in the afternoon… No, this afternoon you talked to the old man at the equipment shop and Female Warrior—and no one else, right? Well, maybe you picked it out in the snippets of passing conversation at the tavern… It doesn’t really matter how you heard it anyway. Very few of the rumors swirling around the dungeon are totally trustworthy. Instead of asking each other pointless questions, it would be much better to go find the truth with your own eyes.
There’s just one question: Do you need to find the truth? Whatever happened to the adventurers who went into the dungeon, it was on them. Whatever happened to those girls from the orphanage or any other adventurers, it has nothing to do with you. And conversely, whatever happens to you has nothing to do with any of them.
You are the leader of a party, and the fate of your party members rests, to a greater or lesser extent, on your shoulders. You don’t have one single, solitary reason to put your companions in danger for the sake of some other adventurers. You can go out of your way to confront these newbie hunters or avoid them entirely.
We’re free to make either choice.
“…………”
To your surprise, as you’re deep in thought, it’s your cousin who leans toward you, her face serious. What could she want? You open your mouth to ask her, but—
“C’mon, you!”
Eeyowch.
You can almost hear the sound as she pokes you in the forehead.
“A leader’s not supposed to make a face like that. You’re supposed to talk—to your big sis and everyone else.”
Even as you rub your stinging head, you try to maintain your composure as you look back at your cousin. That’s all well and good, but surely, she doesn’t need to attack you for it?
“But you weren’t even looking around you. I think a little poke in the head is the perfect antidote.”
Around.
That causes you to take a proper look around the table. Half-Elf Scout guffaws and pounds himself on the chest. “What’sa matter, Captain? Something on your mind? You just tell your old scout, eh?”
“Let me guess—you’re in love?” Next is Female Warrior, grinning. “Well, sorry to rain on your parade, but I’m afraid the answer is no.” She puts her hands together in front of her ample chest apologetically.
You scratch your cheek with embarrassment (even though you haven’t said anything yet), and Female Bishop opens her mouth hesitantly. “Um, uh…” Although she acts unsure, you can detect her gaze from underneath her bandage; she turns to you and nods firmly. “If you’re willing to talk to me, I’m certainly willing to listen… Okay?”
“Me, I don’t care either way,” Myrmidon Monk says, mandibles clacking as he offers Female Bishop a drink of water. “Whatever’s on your mind, just spit it out.”
Well, sheesh.
“See?” Your cousin grins, and you realize she never meant any harm. Seeing now that you’re surrounded by the kind of friends who are hard to come by, you shore up your resolve and share your thoughts.
‘I want to hunt down those scruffy men.’
You won’t pretend you’re doing it for the greater good, for the world or anyone in it, or even because you personally don’t like them. You won’t spout any nonsense about virtue, or evil, or being unable to forgive them for their crimes. It literally has nothing to do with you. No one’s asked you to fight them, and you have no reason to.
Except you came to the fortress city relying on your own blade. Can those who would challenge the Death live with themselves if they run from some ruffians on just the second floor?
Yes, there’s a proverb that says the wise man doesn’t face a stampeding stallion but takes a road that avoids it. But you don’t wish to avoid this first intimation of the Death in the dungeon. Instead, you feel strongly that you should cut it down if you can and move forward.
“…”
“…”
Your friends, after hearing your thoughts, look at one another in silent consideration. You’re thankful for this. You feel immense gratitude that they give it genuine thought, rather than unthinkingly saying That’s right or I agree.
Ultimately, the first to speak is Half-Elf Scout. “It’s a tough one, but… If we’re talkin’ purely about whether it benefits us or not, gotta say the answer is a resoundin’ no.”
Female Bishop turns a bit red at that; putting a hand to her cheek, she tries to offer her own ideas in a hesitant voice. “Wha—? But… Is that really true?”
“Sure it is,” Half-Elf Scout replies with a nod. He isn’t explicitly for or against the idea yet, just stating facts.
“He’s right if we limit the discussion to ourselves,” Myrmidon Monk says. “This bunch is after freshly minted prey. Adventurers who can handle the second floor themselves would be too risky.”
Meaning, you suppose, that if you simply continue getting more powerful and delving deeper into the dungeon, there’s minimal chance that you’ll be targeted by these people. That’s the conclusion you draw about your current situation based on what these two have said. If you go on with your original plan to head down to the second floor, you won’t be attacked by the newbie hunters. Not even scorched by the sparks from their activities. No need at all to go jumping into the flames yourselves.
“Still… Hmm. I think there’s more to say. What about you?” Myrmidon Monk pulls your thoughts back to the argument at hand.
“Who, me?” Half-Elf Scout makes a strained face. “Eh, it means no newbies coming up the ranks. Life’d be that much harder when you’re trying to bring up a new kid…”
Now, that, you understand. They’re talking about what happens when someone in this place dies and is lost. Spending inordinate amounts of time teaching and training new people would slow down the exploration of the dungeon; it would, in effect, be a retreat from the front lines.
You can’t imagine how deep the dungeon might be beyond that second floor. Still less whether the people now delving will be the ones to reach the bottom…
“But we can’t just do nothing.”
Of course your cousin would say that. She’s such a good-hearted soul, much more so (you know all too well!) than you are.
“We can’t just sacrifice other people when we know what’s happening…”
“I agree that, er…um…it would be helpful,” Female Bishop says, much as you expected. She still sounds a little hesitant and uncertain; maybe the drink hasn’t quite worn off yet. But she tilts her head in an enticing fashion, a bewitching expression on her face, and says coolly, “Besides, they aren’t goblins, are they?”
At the very least, you don’t think they are.
That simple confirmation from you brings a “Right” and a happy nod from her. Her voice still carries a hint of ineffable fear, but now she’s against the scruffy men.
Always expected those two girls to agree anyway.
“Can’t say I’m a big fan,” Half-Elf Scout remarks, his cup in his hand and a sour look on his face, and that’s also just as you knew it would be. “Long-term thinking’s one thing, but the short-term matters, too.”
“But dungeon crawling was always going to be dangerous. It’s only a matter of whether we confront it now or put it off until later,” Myrmidon Monk counters, his mandibles clacking. “In this case, we happen to have avoided the danger. The next time, we might not be able to. Do we leave ourselves a little slack or gain some experience?”
You think you understand where he’s coming from.
‘Meaning?’
“I don’t care either way.”
You take in these varying opinions into consideration and nod deeply.
Myrmidon Monk isn’t specifically for or against. That makes it two against two. Not that it’s precisely your intention to decide things by majority vote, but if it was, then…
“………”
Female Warrior has kept her silence. She’s just sitting there at the edge of the table. You’ll have to ask, find out what she thinks about all this. Notwithstanding her occasional serious looks, she tends to poke fun at any real arguments.
You ask the question, and at the bottom of her voice, sounding almost confused, she says, “What, me…? I… I…” You nod, encouraging her to continue, and finally, in the softest of tones, she says, “…I want to…do something to help, I guess…” Her words sound uncommonly delicate and vulnerable. She pulls her feet up onto her chair and nods to herself like a little child. “I want to do something. This… It’s about more than just us.”
Fair enough.
Now you’ve at least heard everyone’s thoughts on the issue. You nod again to show that you’re thinking seriously. That makes Female Warrior giggle and smile just like she always does. “…Hey, if our leader says no, then there’s no arguing.”
“True that!” agrees Half-Elf Scout, and you smile in spite of yourself. “We’re the ones who picked you for this job, Cap, so just make the call.”
Myrmidon Monk doesn’t say anything, and neither does Female Bishop, although she smiles ambiguously and rocks back and forth a little.
“See?” Your cousin looks at you as if to say, Just like your big sis told you, right? Bah.
But you have indeed found yourself with rare traveling companions. You can certainly go confront those scruffy men on the second floor of the dungeon with them or ignore the whole thing. The right to choose is in your hands. This is true freedom.
You announce your decision.
‘Let’s do it.’
To turn a blind eye to evil is to do evil yourself—isn’t that what they say? Besides, you’re going to fight the Death at the bottom of the dungeon someday. What are a few ruffians to you?
Half-Elf Scout and Myrmidon Monk nod.
“Oh, it’s on!”
“So it would seem.”
Now that you’ve made the choice, all that’s left is to act. You were already planning to head for the second floor on your next visit to the dungeon, so nothing new on that front. There shouldn’t be any problems on the way, assuming Female Bishop is good and sober by then. The real key is going to be how many resources you can conserve during the trip, knowing you have a big fight awaiting you…
“Mn… Thanks,” Female Warrior whispers, but you shake your head and say that you didn’t do anything to warrant gratitude. You just made the best choice for your party’s future.
“Heh-heh.” Your cousin scoffs. “Your big sister is happy to see what a sweet person her little brother’s turned into.”
‘Hush up, second cousin.’
Then you raise your voice even louder and call for a waitress. You’re going into the dungeon tomorrow. A little more to drink first won’t matter. The laughter of your companions as they watch you call for more alcohol is lost in the hum of the tavern.
“Say, Cap, I heard that Knight of Diamonds is heading to the second floor tomorrow, too.”
Oh-ho. You listen closely, although you don’t stop drinking liberally from your cup. This isn’t the first rumor Half-Elf Scout has reported this evening—he seems to come by a lot of them.
“That’s because I’m a scout and a thief. Keeping my ears open is my job.” He crosses his arms as if this was obvious. “Heck, if I didn’t work on gathering information, I’d have nothing to do but open treasure chests.”
You don’t think that’s all he would have to do, and you tell him so. He’s helped you out in any number of different ways.
“Gotta be diligent—that’s the real trick to staying alive.” He grins and shrugs.
Makes sense—by his logic, he’s been keeping you all alive.
“Yeah. That’s why you just have to do your best opening those treasure chests,” says Female Warrior, who’s been listening to you, cheerfully stirring the pot. You can see that her cheeks are flushed and her eyes relaxed; you’re not sure how many cups of wine she’s had. “But if you’re not sure about one, you have to let us know, all right? There are lots of replacements.”
“Like me,” Myrmidon Monk adds, his mandibles clacking. “My Precog miracle lets me foresee any traps that might be set on a treasure chest.”
“Geez…” Half-Elf Scout wrinkles his brow to much laughter (and eating and drinking) from the rest of you.
Well, only as much eating and drinking as the last few little coins in this purse.
Each of you has had a good day off, raised your level, and now you pray for success in tomorrow’s dungeon dive. Chances to raise a glass and revel with your companions like this are precious. The next time one comes, you might not be celebrating with the same people.
In this town where ash and death attend you at all times, just living is hard enough. That’s why the adventurers you see always celebrate as they do. And you intend to learn from their example.
Regardless, the last thing you want is to die because of a hangover. You dump Half-Elf Scout and Myrmidon Monk, both brought low by their cups, into the haystacks, then head outside the stable by yourself. You can see one lone white trail stretching through the bright array of the heavens far above: smoke from the distant mountain where a dragon is said to dwell.
You remove the mass-produced sword at your hip, scabbard and all, and sit down beside the stables. The cool night breeze of early summer feels pleasant against your cheeks, flush with spirits. You draw your sword and hold it up, almost as if to shield yourself from the starlight. You check the blade carefully, make sure all the fasteners are fastened, and see that the sharkskin wrapping around the hilt is still a good fit.
Your mentor taught you that your sword is much more than just a weapon. It is an extension of your body, your skills, and your heart: It is a part of you. And whatever it may or may not be, tomorrow you will entrust your life to it. Maintenance is crucial, lest poor fettle cost you everything in the dungeon.
“Hmm… Funny place to sleep.” The unexpected voice causes you to jerk your head up; you tighten your grip on the hilt of your sword, then relax it again.
“Ha! Yeah, I’m here.” Female Warrior stands in the starlight, grinning like a little girl. She sits herself down in a pile of straw beside the stable, ignoring your surprise. The place doesn’t have the typical musk of animals—maybe because it seems more adventurers than horses sleep here. Female Warrior presses her hand into the straw with an interested “Huh! Softer than I expected. Wouldn’t mind curling up right here.”
Not quite grasping what she really means—but with you, what else is new?—you change positions so you’re facing her. Female Warrior moves as well, shifting her soft, supple body so it presses right up against yours. “Hee-hee, getting your hopes up? Sorry to disappoint.” She giggles, but you just smile wryly and shake your head. “Hmm,” she says disinterestedly.
But won’t your cousin and Female Bishop be concerned to find her missing from their room?
“Let’s just say the dear things don’t hold their alcohol very well.”
Out cold, huh?
You suspect it’s almost certainly your second cousin’s fault, but it’s also understandable, considering they seemed to have been drinking since noon.
“Just when I was really feeling bored, I looked out the window, and I could see the stables. I thought I’d stop by to kill some time.”
Ah. You nod in response.
Trying to be mindful of your snoozing companions and the other adventurers nearby, you begin attending to your katana by the light of the moons. But if anything, that seems to draw her interest further. Well, it’s not like you’re sleepy yourself yet. You wouldn’t be averse to chatting for a while…
“…Heh, who am I kidding? That’s all just an excuse.”
You look up from your work in surprise and find yourself gazing into Female Warrior’s eyes, which are clear and true. You wonder if she’s ever looked at you so unflinchingly before.
“…Hey, thanks for earlier, y’know?” she says and smiles gently. Not her usual smile, meant to obscure her true feelings, but one that makes her look as young and girlish as she is. There’s the hem of her clothing, then her pale legs, her smile, the warmth of her beside you, the softness of her flesh. You force yourself to glance away from all this, up to the sky. There you see the twin moons and the gentle wisp of smoke.
Her opinion mattered to you, of course, but it wasn’t the decisive factor. It had been your suggestion to begin with, but the feelings of each individual weren’t the only things that went into the choice. It was really a question of what would be the most beneficial for the party in the future. So it’s nothing she needs to be so concerned about. And if anything happens because of it, the responsibility will rest with the one who made the decision: with you, the party’s leader.
Over the course of several minutes, you explain all this to her.
“Hmm… That’s real cool and all,” she says quietly, looking at you critically. “I always knew you liked putting on a show.”
With utmost seriousness, you object that it isn’t “a show”; it’s simply how you really are, and she just giggles and then falls silent. The only sounds that remain are the gentle rasp of breathing and the wind. You hear, too, the distant burble of the town and the tavern, but that’s all.
With Female Warrior quiet, you replace your katana in its scabbard with a click, then loll onto the hay, lying and looking at the stars. There’s a faint rustle of clothing. You can feel, somehow, that Female Warrior is looking at you.
After a moment, you hear her snicker again. “…Hey. Be honest: You were sort of hoping, right?”
‘Hoping for what?’ You laugh, then close your eyes.
Tomorrow will come soon. Scruffy men or no, it will be your first time challenging that second floor of the dungeon. The great and august leader of the party mustn’t be short on sleep.
“True,” Female Warrior agrees, and you can feel her stand up. Then you hear her pat herself down and some straw scattering around. “But maybe that was just a little hope there?”
This time you don’t say anything at all, and she likewise goes back to the inn without another word.
So the night ends.
“U-urgh… My head… It huuurts…”
Morning comes to the fortress city.
You sigh at your second cousin as she goes wobbling down the main street. You know the bustle of the city’s residents will soon carry away the chilly white mist and the morning silence. The town, just waking up, looks almost empty, yet there’s an irrepressible feeling of life. Maybe this is the only town where that feeling might be disturbed by a group of adventurers clanking down the street in full equipment.
Why did she drink until she felt that way anyway?
“W-we have antidotes and stuff…”
She thinks you’re going to use one of your party’s precious antidotes on a hangover?
Your cousin looks so despondent that you elect not to say anything else. When you think about it, you realize this girl didn’t have a lot of opportunities to go out drinking with her friends and companions back when she was living at home. There’s no special reason to needle her about her failure to consider the consequences.
“Are you quite all right…?”
“Yeah, I… I’m fine.”
From that perspective, it’s rather surprising that Female Bishop, seemingly so obviously a daughter of a cultured upbringing, is apparently unaffected. She holds the sword and scales as she walks and even has the wherewithal to offer a kind word to your cousin. Well, everyone has their own past.
“Heh-heh, guess I should’ve asked for more medicine while I was at the temple,” Female Warrior says with her usual inscrutable smile. You see this as rather a different matter from your lengthy chat with her and settle on a simple nod. It’s clear that she, too, has no intention of bringing up last night.
You remain somewhat mystified by why she feels the need to put in an appearance at the temple so regularly, considering she doesn’t strike you as especially devout. At the same time, though, it’s not for you to question what your party members do. This is well and good.
“My friend was tellin’ me that if you fall asleep drunk, you might sleep, but your spirit doesn’t get any rest,” Half-Elf Scout says seriously from beside you. He seems to have done his fair share of drinking yesterday as well. But elves and rheas aren’t built the same way humans are.
“Doesn’t matter one way or the other to me—just do us a favor and don’t flub your spells,” chides Myrmidon Monk, who you know for a fact has been chewing some herbs that are supposed to chase away hangovers. You silently hold out your hand, and with a “tsk,” he produces a plug of the herbs from his pouch and gives it to you. Still without a word, you pass it back to your cousin. She blinks at it, then grabs it with both hands and stuffs it into her mouth.
“…It’s so bitter!”
‘Yeah, it’s a hangover cure.’
That’s all the response you have to her concern as you cut through the city and head for the edge of town. To challenge the pit, its fangs bared like a cruel animal, while suffering from a hangover would be beyond foolish. The opponent you’re facing is the Death. Something or someone stretching out its hand from deep within all over the Four-Cornered World. Whatever it is, you’ll never be able to handle it just puttering around on the first floor, but today is different. Today, you’re going down to the second level. It sounds like such a small change, but you have to make sure everything is just right.
That’s what you’re trying to keep in mind as you pass through the great gate and head for the dungeon entrance. The royal knight standing guard already knows you by sight, but then, there must be many she knows. And perhaps just as many who die before she gets to know their faces—yes, those who succumb to the Death.
The sense of death intensifies as you get closer; to you, it smells like rust…
Female Bishop is the first to say anything: “I smell blood…” Her voice is so soft and detached, you almost don’t realize it’s her at first.
The knight guard stares at you curiously when you all stop just in front of the dungeon entrance. She looks like she’s about to ask if you’ve caught a case of cold feet, and you wave your hand to dismiss the notion. If you were really frightened, then you would have to humbly accept the reputation as a coward that would pursue you. But if not, then it would be a dishonor to be thought one. And dishonor is a failure and would ultimately mean you would have to kill yourself to make it right, and you’d like to avoid that.
Still, to discover the dungeon so full of blood and death that you can detect it all the way on the surface…
“Sorry, make way! Coming through!”
By the time the voice reaches you, even you can smell the blood. Racing out of the dungeon, equipment rattling, comes a party you recognize. It’s the Knight of Diamonds and a red-haired adventurer, supported by their party members. All of them are wounded, their armor dirty, and several of them are carrying companions slumped over their shoulders.
The Knight of Diamonds, in the lead, is just as bloodless and pale as the others, and he’s hardly uninjured. For one thing, he has a rag soaked a dark reddish-black pressed against the neck of his armor.
Now, that’s failure.
They don’t have to tell you to get out of the way; they nod in acknowledgment as you step aside, then run past you without breaking their pace. As they pass by, your eyes meet those of the Knight of Diamonds, who opens his mouth as if he might say something to you. But the words take on no sound, and before you can tell what he was about to say, they’re gone.
Your party, left standing there, takes a look around, your eyes finally settling on the guard. The knight guard shrugs uncomfortably but says nothing.
“Do you think it was goblins…?”
“I’m betting it wasn’t slimes—that’s for sure.”
Female Bishop and Female Warrior both have trouble hiding the nervousness in their voices. You say very seriously that it could well have been goblins or even slimes. “Grrr,” your cousin growls from behind you, jabbing you in the back, but you can’t be bothered to notice her.
“Y’know… I heard their party was going to be hitting the second floor today,” Half-Elf Scout remarks, and you nod agreement. Probably best to assume they were fighting the notorious scruffy men. Apparently, they’re more powerful opponents than you gave them credit for. You must be vigilant, but this might also be your best chance. After all, the scruffy men have certainly been weakened by the fight as well. Now might be the perfect moment to finish them off.
“But that…,” your cousin says to this, clearly concerned. “That makes it sound like this is no different from a monster hunt…”
Myrmidon Monk’s mandibles clack, and for once he laughs. “It just means those bastards are Non-Prayers now.”
To make a long story short, slimes certainly do show up, as do goblins.
“…!” Female Bishop’s teeth chatter, her face pale.
“Argh, I can’t take it anymore…!” Beside her, Female Warrior is wiping goo off her clothes, looking like she might cry at any moment.
Down amid the white wire frame of the dungeon, even the simple path to the stairway is not guaranteed to be safe. You can stay out of every room, yet you never know when you might run into a wandering monster.
You kick the gooey, spreading puddle—whether it’s blood or brains or what, you don’t know—and turn around. You ask if everyone’s okay. The two girls in the back aside, it would be trouble if anyone was hurt.
“…A good scare fixed me right up!” your second cousin replies brightly, probably referring to her hangover. You think maybe it had more to do with the herbs you gave her, but in any event, you flick the blood off your sword and put it back in its scabbard.
“This place has one rotten Dungeon Master.” Half-Elf Scout snorts as he frisks the corpse of a goblin lying in a puddle of foul liquid. “We fight, we risk our lives just like we do in any of the chambers, but these guys don’t carry treasure chests.”
“Guess they don’t want people who are only after money going any deeper.” Myrmidon Monk, like you, wipes his blade and puts it away. “You’re right; the danger’s the same, so let the coin-addled stay up here instead of being tempted to explore farther—that’s probably the logic.”
You get out your canteen and take a swig, then speak to Female Bishop and Female Warrior.
“Yes… I’m all right,” Female Bishop answers with an uneasy nod.
“Urgh, my brand-new armor…,” Female Warrior moans, pouting.
You’re not sure whether these responses represent their true feelings or are just a front, but if they can pretend to be all right, then that’s probably good enough for now. You give out orders, then start walking through the halls of the wire frame that leads deeper into the dungeon. You’ve managed to make it to right near the staircase without using up any of your spells, which seems like a good sign. You leave it to your scout to check out what’s ahead, then ask about the path to follow.
“Oh, yes,” Female Bishop says, quickly opening the map she’d rolled up when the battle started.
Your cousin peeks in from beside her, brushing the surface of the sheepskin with the same fingers that clutch her short staff. “This is about where we are, right?”
“Yes, I think that’s where the battle started, so…to the east one square, then north…”
Fighting within a room is one thing, but this is the danger of a battle out in the halls. After all, you don’t stand in one place while you’re fighting. You close distance, open it up again, get pushed back, or fight your way forward. In other words, your position changes, and if you resume exploring without taking that into account, it’s all too easy to get lost. If you were to step on a turntable and get spun around completely—you haven’t encountered that yet yourself—it would be no laughing matter.
More than anything, getting too involved in some other task can cost you your concentration.
You try to steady your breath, made ragged by combat, and wait for Female Bishop to finish the mapping.
“There it is—we’re taking the long way around the dark zone, and we should reach the staircase before long.”
You nod acknowledgment, then give Female Warrior a gentle pat on the shoulder. Her sopping clothes stick to her skin, but you make it a point to act like you don’t notice. “Hmph,” she utters, whether she notices this or not, then follows you at a brisk trot.
You finally arrive at something that isn’t so much a staircase as a sort of rope ladder. It hangs clear through a hole in the floor so that you can climb up and down. You wonder if it was left there by the first adventurers to brave this dungeon to its bottom or if it’s been there all along. You don’t even know if anyone else has ever really reached the lowest floor.
You go right up to the edge of the hole and peer down.
Darkness.
A square patch of black yawns in the floor. The harder you look at it, the more you feel like it’s looking back at you.
“Wouldn’t want to fall down that,” Half-Elf Scout says with a glance at the hole.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Myrmidon Monk clacks. “This dungeon does funny things to your senses. What’s close seems far away, and what’s well in the distance looks like it’s just out of reach.”
Myrmidon eyes are different from those of humans. Maybe the world they see is different, too. But regardless, what he says is right. The only visible things in this dungeon are the darkness and the faint white wire frame of the walls. Perhaps the invisible floor beneath your feet is really just that thin.
“So if someone was to go Boo! from behind you…”
You give your second cousin a cold stare.
“What, you think I would actually do it? Not me.”
Good, then.
“Wonder who—or what—is waiting for us on the second floor,” Female Warrior whispers, and you, taking her cue, say it’s probably monsters.
“Monsters.” It’s a broad grouping, but there it is. Be they goblins or be they slimes, the monsters, in their wanderings, made this dungeon their home, so perhaps it was true what Myrmidon Monk said before. You were going to have to fight fearsome Non-Prayer Characters.
‘Let’s go with the usual arrangement.’
You and Female Warrior, along with Myrmidon Monk, in the front row. Female Bishop and your cousin, along with Half-Elf Scout, in the back.
That means it will be up to you to descend the ladder first and make sure it’s safe for everyone else to come down. You grab the ladder even as you make the suggestion and are greeted with nods from the others.
“Might be best for me t’go down last, then. Gotta make sure it stays safe up here, too.” Half-Elf Scout smacks his chest assuredly.
“If you don’t mind, we would most appreciate that,” Female Bishop says with a dip of her head.
With the front row heading down first, you have to make sure you’ll be able to return in a hurry if anything happens. You transfer your sword to your back so it won’t get in your way as you climb.
“Just to be clear, there won’t be any looking up by the people who go down first, will there?” says Female Warrior, ready as always with an ambush. She brings her arms together in front of her voluptuous bosom and looks at you as if to say, Will there?
“Not interested.” Maybe Myrmidon Monk thinks he’s helping, but he does it with his characteristic bluntness.
Whatever.
“Now, now, be a good boy,” your second cousin teases, evidently intent on twisting the knife, and even Female Bishop examines you studiously. Her eyes might not carry the light of vision in them, but her gaze can still be cold and sharp when she wants it to.
Fine, fine. You give a wry smile, then get a better grip on the ladder and give it a good tug to make sure it’s firmly in place. Satisfied that it’s not going to come loose too easily, you lower yourself into the hole, hanging in space. You let out a breath, feeling the rungs of the ladder against your fingertips. Then you begin a slow, careful climb downward.
Your companions vanish from sight above you, and then you’re swallowed up by darkness. You’re frightened, yes—but no one has ever attained victory by worrying. The best thing you can do is banter with your friends a bit to keep things lighthearted as you go. Being unable to do that, here alone in the dark, is perhaps the worst part of this. But you steel yourself and proceed down, rung by rung, toward a second floor you can’t yet see.
In terms of what you see, the second floor is no different from the first.
The wire-frame maze floating up out of the darkness. The chill, unfeeling atmosphere.
You stand in the very center of the hallway, call up to your companions above you, and give the ladder a shake.
The first to follow you is Myrmidon Monk, who comes sliding smoothly down. You remark that he seems used to this, to which he replies simply, “Well, you know.” You don’t know whether it’s some trait of Myrmidons or past experience, but in any event, you find it reassuring.
“Hold on a second, ’kay?” Female Warrior seems to be having some trouble; whether it’s from the height of the ladder or from awkwardly trying to hold her spear, you’re not sure. She spends a moment attempting to figure out how to avoid both dropping her weapon and getting entangled in the rope ladder, but in the end, she seems to give it up. She ties some rope around herself, diagonally across her chest, securing the spear on her back before finally making it down the ladder.
“Sorry. Waiting long?” she asks, landing lightly on her feet, as if she and her armor weigh nothing at all. You nod your admiration. Although, given the agility and nimbleness her weapon demands, perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised.
The ones who come next, they could be the problem.
“S-slowly now, okay…?”
“Please don’t shake the ladder…!”
Female Bishop’s difficulties you can understand, what with the trouble with her eyes, but your cousin’s bumbling descent gets on your nerves. You don’t intend to complain aloud—you know this isn’t the sort of thing either of them was taught to do—but you will have to try to think of some way to help them for the next time this comes up.
You don’t think it’s really that far down, but the girls’ movements on the ladder are slow and hesitant. You call out that it’s all right, that you’ll catch them if they fall, but it doesn’t seem to help very much.
“I think it’s falling they’re afraid of. Doesn’t matter if they’ll be fine at the end,” Myrmidon Monk notes.
You see he’s right. It seems so obvious when he says it. You shake your head hopelessly and decide to take a look around.
You seem to be on the first square of a hallway, and there’s no sense that any monsters are about to burst out at you. The real question is where on the second floor you are. The dungeon may go many levels deep, but nothing says it was necessarily dug straight down. Judging purely by the number of steps on a side, it seems to be built roughly in the shape of a square, but you don’t know if this level is located directly beneath the one above or not…
“S-sorry about that. We’re here now…”
“Phew, we made it…”
That would be Female Bishop and your second cousin arriving. Female Bishop is nodding slightly, but your second cousin has since collapsed on the ground. You remark with an amused smile that it makes her look sloppy, and she puffs out her cheeks at you. “Not all of us were allowed to spend our time climbing trees back home!”
So she thinks she would be on equal terms with you if she’d been allowed to clamber through branches all her life? You shake your head at this sore loser–ness of hers, then ask Half-Elf Scout what he thinks of the situation.
“Eh, that’s the difference between a warrior and a magic user, I guess.” He slides down to the second floor with hardly a sound, a thief in his element. He does a quick check of his equipment, then nods. “Great. And as your level goes up, the gap gets bigger, too, so I wouldn’t sweat it too much.”
“See? That’s what you’re missing!” your cousin says, apparently heartened by the scout’s considerate remark and looking to make an attack of opportunity. “Right?” she adds, looking to Female Bishop for confirmation, but the other woman only shifts nervously. “Us girls have picked up some new tricks from that spell book, so don’t underestimate us!” She puffs out her generous chest, full of confidence, and you have to admit that it won’t hurt to have some more magic available.
You cut through the chatter to tell everyone it’s about time to move out, and then you refocus your attention. It’s time to explore the second floor—and confront the scruffy men.
They don’t know you’re coming or that you even exist, but then again, neither of you is compelled to be in this fight. When adventurers and monsters clash in this dungeon, all that awaits is victory for one and the Death for the other.
“So which way first?” Myrmidon Monk asks. You think about it for a moment, then conclude that wherever they are, the scruffy men can’t be far. They might be no different from monsters now, but they’ll still want to make their base somewhere that offers them the most convenience. If they’re preying on adventurers exploring the first floor, then they would probably stay as close to here as possible.
“Agreed. Assuming there aren’t any other stairways or the like around, of course.”
If you’re right about this, then that’s another mystery of the maze you’ve solved. With the scruffy men hurt by the attack from the Knight of Diamonds and his party, you can’t miss the opportunity this day represents. There’s no way the enemy escaped unscathed; they must be injured as well.
You can’t give them any time to lick their wounds or to relocate their base deeper into the dungeon in fear of reprisals. And on the unlikely possibility that the scruffy men dealt with the Knight of Diamonds before he and his party could even scratch them…
Well, it’s too bad, but your adventure will end here. That’s all there is to it.
“C’mon, Cap—let’s get a move on. I’ll bet those guys have a tidy little treasure hoard, too.” Half-Elf Scout grins. You nod at him, then call to the others to form up. Female Bishop and your cousin both seem to have gotten their breathing under control, and you think they’re going to be fine.
You form your ranks the same way as always, and then your friends and you start down the wire-frame hallway of the dungeon.
“North, one, two…” Female Bishop has the sheepskin map open; you can hear her pencil scratching along it, high-pitched above the sound of her footsteps.
You think of yourself as a relatively experienced explorer by now, but the dungeon is so much quieter than you ever thought. There are more urgent moments and less urgent ones, but at the very least, it isn’t the constant, unyielding struggle you once imagined. You can’t let down your guard, but if you’re in a constant state of extreme vigilance, you’ll be too fatigued when the moment that really requires you to pay attention comes along. To help avoid this, you look back over your shoulder and remark that you’re given to understand there are no goblins on the second floor.
“Heh-heh… Well, small blessings, I guess,” Female Bishop says with a mixture of reluctance and relief, her pencil stopping in her hand. “I’m glad we won’t see any down here, but they’re still there, up on the first floor…”
They aren’t gone. That makes sense. You hadn’t thought about it that way.
Then again, monsters seem to spring up endlessly from this dungeon, and that includes goblins. If you want to get all the goblins out of the dungeon, you’ll have to confront the Death on the lowest floor.
“That makes sense…” She echoes your words in a whisper, dead earnest. “I hadn’t thought about it that way…”
Female Warrior tugs on your sleeve unexpectedly. “Hey, how about slimes? What do you think?” You don’t even look at her but say flatly that you have no idea. You hear a “grrr” and assume she’s puffed out her cheeks. The sound is very pointed. “Aren’t you being a bit cold?”
“Don’t mind him,” Half-Elf Scout says with a guffaw from the back row. “The cap just isn’t that interested in stuff he’s already decided to kill.”
This time it’s your turn to be a little annoyed. You wish he wouldn’t talk about you like you were some sort of sword devil. Openly pleased by your reaction, Female Warrior turns to your scout and asks, “What about you?”
“Good question,” he says. He thinks about it for a second before replying nonchalantly, “Slimes and goblins never carry that much cash, so I guess I’m not that interested in ’em, either, eh?”
“In other words, you’re after money. Not what I’d call the highest of principles.”
“Well, now…” Half-Elf Scout deliberately trails off. Female Warrior giggles.
“Hmm,” muses your cousin, who has been listening to all this chatter with a smile. “Personally, I’d welcome an encounter with some humanoid monsters—it would give us a chance to try out our new spells…”
“That’s true,” agrees Female Bishop softly. “We did go to all that trouble to learn them.”
“Well, isn’t it nice to have you two along,” Female Warrior says in a singsong voice and gives a nimble flourish of her spear. You likewise come to a stop, feeling out the footing ahead with the tiptoes of your sandals.
“Looks like you’re out of luck,” Myrmidon Monk clacks, drawing his short, bent blade from the scabbard hanging at the small of his back.
Just down the hall from where you’ve all stopped, the corridor is full of some kind of vapor of an unsettling color. The way it moves, though, is clearly organic—a wandering monster!
“Can we… Can we really cut that stuff or stab it…?” Female Warrior asks, and you don’t blame her.
Your path is blocked by several roiling clouds of gas. Their color hints at their poisonous nature, and there’s clearly more than one of them— What do you call a group of clouds of gas? A herd? They’re obviously alive, yet they’re just as obviously not normal organic life-forms but something created by magic. That means it’s not immediately apparent whether blades and clubs will do any damage to them.
“Sorry,” your cousin says, “I don’t think my new magic is going to do much against these…”
You tell her not to worry about it, then draw your sword. You grasp the hilt in both hands, taking a deep, low stance and advancing step by sliding step. No one weapon, be it a blade or a spell or anything else, is effective against everything you might encounter. If your physical attacks don’t work, then you’ll have to rely on your cousin and Female Bishop for their magic. Why get upset with them just because their newest spells won’t have any effect?
You shoot a glance at Female Warrior and Myrmidon Monk; then with a great shout, you charge in. You drop your torso low, kick one foot back, and strike upward from below. Your katana neatly slices the cloud of gas, sliding through it as easily as if you were cutting air. Without a pause, you bring your sword back, rising up again even as your eyes widen.
It works!
A bit of the gas drifts away like a cloud in the sky. The thing even spasms like a flesh-and-blood creature being cut!
“This might actually work…!” Female Warrior says, then drives at the enemy with her spear in one hand.
But just as you’re getting used to the fact that you don’t feel the creatures under your blade, one of them expands dramatically.
“CLOOOOOUDDDD!!!!”
It doesn’t sound like a cry so much as an angry torrent of wind. But the moment the vapors surround your head, you involuntarily drop to your knees. You struggle for breath as if you are being strangled; you feel your life seeping away with every attempt to suck in oxygen. Your face burns, and you know you’re being attacked by the living gas.
You flail your arms, waving away the mist, and the cold air of the dungeon rushes into your lungs.
“Take this!” Female Warrior rushes past you where you kneel coughing and choking, taking up a position ahead of you. With a sweet but fearsome yell, she drives her spear forward; you can hear it whoosh through the air. It scatters the gas cloud, but your opponent isn’t going to take this lying down. Droplets of the dispersed mist fly every which way, and some of them land on Female Warrior’s face.
“Hrr—agh?!” she gasps and reels backward. Seeing how pale she is, you pause in surprise even though you’re in the middle of a battle.
Poison gas!
“I-it’s okay… I’m fine!” Female Warrior retreats, supporting herself on her spear, but you distinctly acknowledge that she did nod at you. In the back row, your cousin and Female Bishop are hurrying to make a move, but you hold up your hand to stop them.
“Watch out!” Myrmidon Monk calls. “The monsters down here aren’t like the ones on the first floor!” He holds his dagger in a reverse grip, while with his other hand, he forms the sigil of the god of wind—the Trade God. “My god the roaming wind, let all on our road be good fortune!”
At that instant, the wind stops. The gas clouds’ movements become noticeably slower: This is the Silence miracle, a blessing of wind avoidance. You certainly don’t need any other spells now. You see what Myrmidon Monk meant; this is a very different way of handling enemies from what you’re used to. But…
You draw your sword back to your shoulder, then step toward the cloud, at the same time bringing your weapon down from high overhead.
“CDDLOOOUDD?!?!?!”
But they’re weak.
With that one great slash, the gas clouds disappear like a bit of morning mist. The fog that had ensconced the hallway clears, and coins come falling to the ground with metallic clinks. Perhaps the coins formed the nucleus of the spell that gave these creatures life.
And so you survive this random battle without too much worry or fuss.
This is a good sign as far as it goes, but one could argue it’s a bad sign, too.
Thus you muse to yourself as you give a precious antidote to Female Warrior. She grimaces. “I’m not a big fan of bitter stuff…”
Even here in a remote corner of the dungeon, you can still make a circle with holy water and set up camp. You can’t count on it holding for very long, of course, but it will be enough for a short rest. You look around at your companions, catching their collective breath inside the circle, then place the bottle, drunk empty, on the floor.
“Hey, here, try some of this baked treat I got at the inn. It’s delicious!”
“Oh, don’t mind if I do, then… Thank you.”
Your cousin is sharing provisions with Female Bishop; despite some fatigue, they still seem to have plenty of vitality.
You do need a little rest: You’ve come all the way from town, through the first floor and now some distance along the second, a fairly lengthy bout of exploration. Still, you haven’t used up any spells. And you haven’t forgotten the ones you committed to memory, so no problems there.
“Man, with all these random encounters, there’s nothing for me to do!” crows Half-Elf Scout, who has been making up part of the back row. He idly plays with his dagger to pass the time but cackles to himself. His only real job is to keep an eye out behind you, and while that’s a tremendously important role, it doesn’t consume much stamina. Although it’s true he can’t let his attention waver. In that respect, he’s pacing himself well… “Eh, no big deal. Never know when there might be a hidden doorway somewhere anyway.” He must have noticed you watching him, because he grins. You nod back at him.
“Phew……”
It’s really Female Warrior and yourself who concern you more than anything else. Your ability to concentrate isn’t limitless. At the moment, Female Warrior is sitting down, leaning listlessly on her spear, looking somewhat spent. If you were to ask whether she’s tired, you suspect she would insist that she’s fine. Or maybe she would give that belly laugh of hers and say, Yeah, a bit.
Whichever it might be, you doubt she would tell you how she’s really feeling. You need to make a decision. You all survived the battle on the first floor, and now you’ve obtained your first victory on the second. So that’s a good sign—but your diminished stamina might not bode so well for the next battle.
You’re startled from your thoughts by the sound of a pair of mandibles clacking. “If you think it’s too dangerous, the answer’s simple: retreat,” Myrmidon Monk says, glancing at you. “Just like the others.”
You indicate your agreement with Myrmidon Monk. It’s worth remembering that you and Female Warrior aren’t the only ones in the front row. He’s here, too. It would be silly to rely on him to do everything, but to never let him do anything would be equally foolish; it would defeat the point of including him in the party. You remark that in the case of a retreat, you’d have to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who ended up as the rear guard, but he shrugs and doesn’t say anything.
“………?” Rather unexpectedly, Female Bishop looks up, her nose twitching.
“Something wrong?” your cousin asks, looking at her with puzzlement, but she replies, “Oh, no.” Your cousin picks a few crumbs from around Female Bishop’s mouth. Maybe Female Bishop can sense her pop one into her own mouth, because she blushes and looks down. “It’s just… Don’t you think it smells a little like…blood?”
“Might be right,” Half-Elf Scout says. “That knight we saw up top could have survived, but there’s been an awful lot of killing down here, don’t you think?” He seems to mean that even though you rarely encounter other adventurers in the dungeon, traces often remain. You try to chase away the image of a pile of dead adventurers in the rogues’ hideout.
That’s actually a rather good sign, you conclude. You’ve cut your way through those gas clouds, and now you’re approaching the rogues’ base. A safe step in the right direction is one of the best things you can hope for in the dungeon. After all, how often do those steps reveal a pit trap that you tumble into? You don’t know anything about the terrain down here anyway. Might as well rely on Female Bishop’s intuition.
“You’re counting on me, sir?” she asks with a frown, but then she grips the sword and scales all the more tightly. “Okay, I understand.”
She nods, and Myrmidon Monk says simply, “Let me take over the map.”
The Trade God is the god of the wind, the god of travel, and perhaps that would make him the god of maps as well. Myrmidon Monk responds to your suggestion with a clack of his mandibles. Perhaps that’s all the answer you need.
After a moment to compose yourself, you give the despondent-looking Female Warrior a pat on the shoulder. She looks up at you distantly for a second, then says “Yeah” with a small nod. “You’re right… The things down here don’t seem that different from the things upstairs, but…”
She gets to her feet, spear in hand, and the others likewise start gathering up their equipment and getting ready to go. You check one another, making sure armor and weapons are good to go. You help, needless to say. A leader’s actions are what show that he’s taking proper care of his party members and help put everyone’s minds at ease.
“Have to say, the enemies down here make the skin crawl.” The unexpected whisper in your direction comes from Myrmidon Monk. In addition to his monk’s robes, he carries the characteristic curved blade of his people at his hip and always looks ready for battle. You clasp the palm that earlier patted the sopping shoulder of Female Warrior and ask if he means slimes.
“Yes… Well, no,” Myrmidon Monk adds, his mandibles clacking and his face serious. “It’s the Gas Clouds.”
So that’s what you call those roiling clouds of poisonous fumes. He frowns. You can tell yourself the omens look good as many times as you like, but the fact remains that you were caught unawares. If those things are the foot soldiers of the second floor of the dungeon, whosoever might have put them to the task…
“This is more than just a simple question of level,” Myrmidon Monk says. “Those things aren’t normal organic life-forms.”
Well, that much is certainly true. Up on the first floor, the wandering monsters mostly consisted of things like goblins, slimes, animated corpses, and skeleton warriors. Then you come down to the second floor, and all of a sudden there are living clouds of gas floating around. And they spray poison, just to make things extra interesting…
‘Ah. This isn’t going to be straightforward.’
“Exactly. And we haven’t been granted any miracles yet for healing poison or curing sickness. Don’t let your guard down.”
“What’s the big deal? The cap took ’em out like they weren’t even there,” Half-Elf Scout says lightly, coming to tell you he’s done getting his gear ready. You look him over and see that his leather armor and dagger both look to be in fine repair—no problems as far as you can tell. If you thought he simply painted his equipment black, you are surprised by the earthy dark-red hue the gear actually is. For the first time since you started working with him, you realize the color must meld better with darkness than actual black.
“If you can cut ’em up and they die, then no biggie. Nothing to worry about.”
You grin and say he’s exactly right, but your cousin butts in from behind:
“You know there are some creatures that can only be defeated with magic, right?”
Your cousin would go down for the count pretty much immediately if she had to engage in actual, physical combat, and you both know it. So instead, she’s equipped with the absolute minimum of defensive gear, along with the staff she grips tightly. But nonetheless, of course, even if you aren’t checking your spell caster’s equipment, you have to make sure they look physically and psychologically fit.
You nod and indicate No problem; beside you, Half-Elf Scout looks at your cousin with exaggerated but utmost seriousness. “Welp, we’ll just have to count on you if we meet one of those,” he says.
“Heh-heh, gladly. And not me alone…remember?” Your cousin smiles and puts a hand on Female Bishop’s shoulder. Female Bishop says, “That’s right,” but sounds nervous, not very convinced. She clutches at her sword and scales with fresh seriousness, though, and as she starts to walk, she cuts an inspiring figure. Your lips relax into a smile when you see her, and then you address the group:
‘Let’s go.’
Back in formation, you step outside the circle of holy water and resume your exploration. You follow the white wire-frame walls extending out into the darkness, one step at a time, ever deeper into the maze. Each time you come to a corner, Female Bishop stops and thinks, focusing carefully, then tells you where to go.
“To the right, I think…”
In this unfamiliar place, there are no other markers to rely on. The rest of you follow her without question. Taking your cue from Female Bishop behind you, who must be focusing her senses very carefully, you take an experimental sniff of the air.
The obvious question is what people actually mean when they talk about a someone or something’s presence. Elves and wizards might see things invisible to others, but to your mundane human eyes, the world appears unremarkable. The only thing you can see at this moment is the wire-frame dungeon extending endlessly into the darkness before you.
Surely, then, even the most sensitive people can’t pick up on something as convenient as presence. You need instead to pay attention to sounds, the shifts of the wind, odors, shadows, the coming and going of your own breath. And when you really focus, you find that no matter how long and how carefully you attend, there’s little information to be had. “Where there’s no smell, there’s no taste,” as the proverb has it—it’s all no, nothingness. Even the stench of death that pervades a chamber after a battle is like this: Take one step outside the room, and you can no longer smell it. You have to simply force yourself to not let your mind wander and to think only of moving forward through the dark.
The way Female Bishop uses her intuition to help you—“To the right.” “Left, I think.”—is truly impressive. It’s almost as if she perceives a different world than you do. Or maybe it’s a natural talent. Maybe this slight and luckless girl was given a gift. An ability to sense whatever it is that hides down here in the dungeon. Whether that be monsters slinking through the dark, something threatening destruction upon the world from the deepest depths, or rogues. Each time you encounter such things down here, what awaits is not merely victory or defeat but death for either you or the other. So perhaps the nothing that creeps along your tongue is the flavor of the Death…
You smile at yourself and shake your head, pushing away the thought. You have to be careful. It’s almost like you’re getting hypnotized by the Death.
Battle is all but unavoidable if you enter a room, while out in the halls you never know when you might encounter a wandering monster. And if it’s unavoidable, then there’s no need to worry about it before it happens.
At the thought, you suddenly feel light, like your breath is finally reaching some deep part of your body that had been too stiff to accept it before. You need to worry less about invisible threats and more about the uncharacteristically reticent Female Warrior.
“………”
Ever since you determined to take on those rogues, she’s been prone to bouts of gloom. You have no intention of prying into her inner life, but if that gloom blunts the tip of her spear, that would be a problem.
So what to do…?
“Oh, that’s right,” says a cheery voice completely at odds with your own concerns. It is, needless to say, your cousin, who digs industriously through a bag slung over her shoulder. “I found some terrific candy in town. I’m not sure about this walking-along-in-silence nonsense, so maybe we could all share it.”
Blasted second cousin. This would have been a lot more appropriate during your little break earlier.
Your cousin effectively ignores your “advice,” smiling brightly as she passes around a bag with little balls of candy in it. Not wanting to be the wet blanket, you take one and pop it in your mouth but immediately frown.
‘It’s mint.’
“Aw, bad luck, Cap,” Half-Elf Scout says with a grin, rolling his own candy around in his mouth. He’s quick. He must have gotten some sweet flavor. You purse your lips and say something unkind; Half-Elf Scout glances off to one side without breaking his smile. You follow his look to discover Myrmidon Monk standing there with the bag in his hand and a look of chagrin on his face.
“…Mint,” he says. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ You nod. Myrmidon Monk slowly shakes his head. “I think I’ll pass for now… This would be a bad time to be distracted by my mouth.”
‘Oh yeah? Well, that’s what it is, then.’
“You’re right about that,” he responds gravely.
“I think I’ll pass, too, then,” Female Bishop says, observing Myrmidon Monk’s reaction closely.
“Are you sure?” your cousin asks, looking disappointed. “I think they’re really good…”
“I’ll try one after we’re finished, then,” Female Bishop tells her, and this gets your cousin smiling again. She trots over to Female Warrior and holds out the bag, smiling brightly. “How about you, milady?”
“Huh…?” Female Warrior looks taken aback, though you can’t imagine she’s actually caught off guard. She glances at you uncertainly, and you nod. Your cousin just keeps smiling. Finally, Female Warrior, looking a bit resigned—or is that hesitant?—reaches slowly for the bag. “…Any strawberry-flavored ones?”
“There sure are! Uh, let’s see… This one, I think!”
‘You think.’ Your teasing earns you only an “It’s too dark to be sure!” from your cousin. Well, if nothing else, avoid the white ones and you won’t get mint.
At that suggestion, you hear Myrmidon Monk mumble, “I didn’t even think of that,” and Half-Elf Scout laughs.
“I think mint is good, too,” Female Bishop says politely, and you feel your cheeks work into a smile.
Encouraged, perhaps, by the convivial atmosphere, Female Warrior reaches into the bag and pops one of the balls of candy into her mouth. “…Mm, it’s so sweet.” A happy look comes over her face, and you exhale pointedly.
Bah. This is why you can’t win with that cousin of yours.
For the next few minutes, the only sound is candy rolling around in people’s mouths. By the time there’s only the last traces of mint left on your tongue, you find yourself standing in front of a deep, dark door.
“…It ain’t locked. No traps, neither, is my guess,” Half-Elf Scout concludes after carefully investigating the door with the tools that normally hang at his belt. Despite his characteristic tone and attitude, he’s actually quite a diligent person. You don’t believe he would make a mistake on a matter like this.
You nod in acknowledgment, then touch the door with one gloved hand. The metal portal is essentially indistinguishable from the door to every other chamber you’ve seen; it’s all a little too neat. Not that you have any reason to doubt Female Bishop, but you wonder if the rogues are really in here.
This dungeon is very strange.
You know there was a battle here not long ago at all, yet the maze hides any lingering miasma or other traces of it. This might be the very place where the Knight of Diamonds and his party fought just this morning, but there’s no way to be sure.
“…This is it. The smell of blood, I think it’s…” But Female Bishop can’t be certain, either, and she trails off.
“Well, only one way to find out,” Myrmidon Monk says with a shrug. He draws his curved blade and holds it in a reverse grip, ready to go. “Let there be monsters or rogues or whatever in there. Makes no difference to me.”
“True that,” Half-Elf Scout says, matching Myrmidon Monk’s unconcerned manner, but it’s Female Warrior you’re worried about.
When you ask if she’s good to go, she replies ambivalently, “Well…” But then she gives a twirl of her spear and continues. “…Yeah, I’m fine. Shall we?” There’s a crack as she bites through the last of her candy.
Good.
You nod briefly, then draw your beloved blade from its place at your hip. Even here in the gloom of the dungeon, it seems to sparkle; it may be nameless, but it’s yours. You work a little spit into the hilt, then hold the sword low and turn toward the door.
“Here we go…,” your cousin says quietly. She sounds nervous, yes, but also somehow relaxed—just like usual. “You have some kind of plan?”
The edges of your lips curl up, and you declare theatrically:
‘Think we know what to do by now. Let’s get started.’
And then you kick the door as hard as you can, smashing it in before you charge into the chamber bellowing your name as a battle cry. The rest of the party piles in after you.
“The hell?!”
“Back for more, ya filthy adventurers?”
You seem to have surprised the room’s inhabitants—the scruffy men!
Now, standing in the room, you can finally smell it: a stench of blood strong enough to turn your stomach. You don’t think even the most rundown tavern in the city would smell quite this bad. At your feet are the remains of some unidentifiable meal and a stewpot in which bones and loot appear to coexist.
The enemies—how many are there? You take a sweeping glance across the room, evaluating the situation.
“Th-the hell are you doing here?!” One of the men scrambles to his feet, awkwardly raising a dagger seemingly before he’s had time to think about what he’s doing.
He’s finished.
You take a step forward, planting your foot on a reddish-brown splotch on the floor, then close the distance with another step before bringing your sword down from overhead.
“Eeyargh!” The silver flash slices into the man’s neck, severing blood vessels and producing a spray of gore. His breath makes a whistling from his demolished throat for a moment before he collapses to the ground. No matter how good you are, what’s unprotected by your armor is still unprotected. You can’t afford to show any openings in battle.
You let the momentum of your strike transition into a flick to get the blood off your sword; then you proceed to the center of the room. There’s only one door. That means the exit is behind you. You need to take up a position here so that not one of them can escape!
“Just leave this to me…!” Female Warrior flits past you, her spear lashing out like an extension of her arms.
“Hrgh?!” The sharp spear tip leaps upward like a snake, piercing one of the rogues through the throat. With a whoosh, the spear tears sidelong out of his neck, and Female Warrior takes up another stance, gripping the spear with both hands. That’s two down. Another six to go—no, wait…
“Huh, damn! First those other guys, now you… Busy day today.”
Whoosh. A giant of a man stands up in the shadows at the back of the room. He’s a veritable barbarian; you’re startled to see chain mail glitter on his body, while in his hand is a broadsword.
Must be their chief.
You slide forward, gauging your distance, while you shift your katana into a low position. You assume this is an experienced opponent. He looks nonchalant, but he must know what he’s doing to have gathered this band of brigands around him. That makes seven opponents altogether. They outnumber you. And when you consider their levels…
“I’ve got your back,” Myrmidon Monk says calmly by way of encouragement. His knife, still in a reverse grip, parries a blow from one of the foes as he moves into position in the front row. You give him the slightest nod, then glance quickly back over your shoulder. Half-Elf Scout is standing there glaring at the rogues with his dagger at the ready, guarding the spell casters. Female Bishop holds up her sword and scales nervously, while beside her, your cousin brandishes her short staff and winks.
“Buy us some time…!” she whispers.
But of course.
You take a deep breath to steady yourself, count the squares to judge the distance, then stare at the chief.
“Huh, three men and three women. Nice stuff—after all, a man gets hungry after a fight!” The one you assume is the leader hefts his broadsword and grins menacingly at you. Then, with lust dripping from his voice, he howls loud enough to shake the stones: “You know the drill, boys! Rip off their heads and then have your way with ’em!”
A collective shout rises from the others, and you hear a great scraping of equipment.
The room isn’t that big. Even if they all attack at once, the seven of them won’t be able to reach you at the same time. So long as Female Warrior and Myrmidon Monk can hold up their ends, you’re not afraid of any attacks reaching the back row. And if by chance one does, Half-Elf Scout is there to intercept it and hold the line.
How do you know he’ll do that? Because it’s his job. And your job is…
“What say we get started, eh…!”
To keep this brute busy for every move, every second it’s possible to wring out of him.
You can tell from the moment the weapon rises in the air that the blow coming at you from dead ahead is going to be a big one. A sword can survive being chipped, but you can’t let it get bent. You meet the massive hatchet with the back of your blade and step to one side.
Your hand tingles. It’s obvious you can’t take these attacks head-on. Unless of course you want to die with the hilt of your own sword buried in your forehead.
Shf. Your straw sandals slide over stones stained with many battles’ worth of blood and gore, and you take a breath.
He’s experienced.
“Hoo, not bad!”
Now you see. You should have expected as much from the leader of a party, even a party of rogues. Everything he wears reeks of blood and rust. His mail sparkles. Then there’s the giant hatchet. All look like they’ve seen many battles. It could just be a bluff, of course. But the massive stature of the man in the mail suggests otherwise.
Recognizing that it’s going to be a tough fight, you carefully scan the room.
“Yah!” Beside you, Female Warrior, sounding incongruously cheerful, puts her spear to work. They always tell beginners not to use a spear in an enclosed space, but apparently, one of these chambers doesn’t count. The weapon is like a living thing in Female Warrior’s petite hands; it shoots back and forth, jumps up and down, sweeps through the air.
“Grgh?!”
“C’mon! Surround her! Get in close enough and she can’t swing at you!”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” By this point, she seems to be doing less stabbing and more beating her opponents with the haft of her weapon, but anyway…
“Not sure you have time to admire her work,” Myrmidon Monk says. “Though I admit, she is distractingly competent.”
And you definitely don’t have time to look back at what’s happening with the magic. As long as you keep the rogues off the back row, that’s enough. You catch an intake of breath from your cousin. Female Bishop is silent. You need them to focus on their spells, so you don’t want to give them any unnecessary distractions. You track your opponent’s movements with your eyes, sliding to keep yourself between him and the spell casters.
The giant man leans the broadsword across his shoulder as if it were a toy, his eyes glinting with bestial malice. When he grins at you, revealing crooked teeth, he looks almost like any other wandering monster you might find in the dungeon. “I’ll grind your bones to make my bread—ha!” he says. “That’s just a little joke. Don’t want you getting the wrong idea—I’m a gentleman; I really am.”
You don’t take your eyes off the resting broadsword. The thing is massive. It should be easy enough to tell when he’s going to swing it—should be.
Hadn’t you heard a proverb about how big heads have small wit? Turns out life is not nearly that convenient. The man’s strength is precisely in his strength; his muscles are his power. Not something to be underestimated.
“Precisely.”
The blow comes almost before your brain can process it. The broadsword seems like nothing more than a flash of light.
You raise your sword over your head—the image of the wounded knight flashes through your mind—then you angle the sword vertically and press your hand against the spine.
There’s a tang of metal on metal!
Your hands feel as if an electric shock has run through them, and your ears ring loudly. You reel back as if struck by a hammer, but then you force your feet to stay steady under you.
That was no cleaving strike. It was a sidelong swipe meant to take off your head—and a critical hit at that!
“—!” Your cousin calls your name from behind you, but you can’t quite seem to hear her. But still you nod. You can do that much. You’re alive. So there’s no problem.
That one second, that instantaneous vision of the Knight of Diamonds with the wound to his neck, saved your life.
“Huh, that’s two of you I didn’t manage to kill today with that move. Maybe I’m getting old.” The man in the mail works his arms in a circle. You spare a glance at your katana. It isn’t broken, or bent, or even chipped. Good.
There probably won’t be another attack like that.
A sideswipe disguised as an overhead blow. A brilliant move but the sort of thing that works only once.
Now all you have to do is keep whittling away at his hit points. Still, a person can always die from a single, straight hit. Although that’s as true of the enemy as it is of you…
“Hrrrahhh!!”
The broadsword crashes toward you again, and with a quick, sliding step, you slip out of the way. You don’t know how many toe-to-toe exchanges you could hold on for before your sword would just be batted out of the way. You can still feel a tingling in your hands from the last one. But you can’t play a purely defensive game, either. You have to go on the attack. You need to attack to attain victory, and to attain victory, you need to kill.
Even as you step away, you pull your katana down into a low position, sliding back and to the right. You’ll never be able to cut through the mail the man is so ostentatiously wearing. Your targets are the legs, the arms, the flanks, and the neck.
The moment the man draws his broadsword back, you advance. You put your weight forward ever so slightly, using the momentum to bring your sword up on a diagonal, stretching out with your arms as you go.
“Heh…!”
There’s a ringing as the blade scrapes the mail. You feel no real resistance. Your opponent has used the momentum from his broadsword swing to get back out of the way. It instantly proves that he fully understands the strengths and weaknesses of his weapon and has adapted his fighting style to accommodate them. But you don’t care. So have you.
Your katana has bounced off your enemy at a diagonal, but rather than bring it back to center, you relax your right hand and twist your left, flipping the blade around. You press forward again, hoping to bring the sword down on the man’s neck.
But your blow is deflected by his broadsword, which he brings up on a diagonal. It’s a textbook move, escaping the line of attack by swinging to the outside. Without hesitation, you pull your sword back, and you see that the man’s next strike will come up from below.
You jump.
You pull your feet in as close to your body as you can, leaping over the broadsword. You know the man’s weapon is unsuited to executing a series of quick strikes, so you realize you’re unlikely to be hit between when you launch yourself into the air and when you land back on the ground.
But the enemy knows it, too. By the time your feet touch the stone floor, your vision is full of the man’s fist.
That broadsword strike was one-handed?! You crouch down deep to minimize the impact of your landing and neatly dodge the punch.
This is bad. You can feel the rush of wind from the force of the punch above your head; you somersault backward and out of range. The broadsword crashes down where you were just a second before. The stone floor cracks under the impact.
You jump to your feet and bring your katana up in front of you, your breath coming in small, short gasps that make your shoulders heave. You force yourself to breathe more calmly, releasing the stiffness from your body, cooling the heat, urging the blood that seems to have rushed to your head to flow back to the rest of you.
Sweat runs into your eyes, but you can’t afford to blink. Thanks to the sharkskin wrapping around the hilt of your sword, at least you aren’t afraid that your hands will slip. You feel as if you should be hearing the clangor of battle around you, but it no longer reaches your ears. Your field of vision narrows until the man in the mail seems to occupy your entire world.
“Har! Har! Har!” the man thunders. “Looks like you’re running out of tricks!”
But that’s fine, you think. Because…
“Musica! Music—”
“Concilio! United—”
“Terpsichore! With dance!”
Because the same goes for him!
“Hrgh! Wha—?!”
The two girls intone the Dance spell in ringing, clear voices. By the time the man in the mail notices them, it’s too late. His feet start to spasm almost like he’s dancing but out of his control. It lasts for only a second. Still, that’s all the time you need. You take a horse spike you’ve drawn out of the hilt of your blade and recite three words of power as you throw it.
‘Sagitta quelta raedius.’
In other words: Magic Missile!
“Hyargh!”
The spike, imbued with total accuracy, as if it had been loosed by a master archer, buries itself deep in the man’s eye. He stumbles back, his hand to his face. Now you don’t have to worry about that broadsword.
‘Ryaaahhh!’
You let loose a great war cry, close the distance between the two of you in a flash, and bring your sword down from high over your head. The blade slides easily into the crevice between the man’s neck and his shoulder.
“Grgh—hrgh?!”
You can feel it under your hands. The spray of blood shows you’ve found a vital point. The giant man gags as if choking on his own blood, and shortly thereafter, he crumples to the ground. The broadsword clatters from his limp hands.
“We… We did it! We did it!” your cousin whoops. Gods. You always knew it was really her you should be afraid of.
“Y-yes,” Female Bishop says. Your cousin takes her hand and exclaims happily, seemingly oblivious to the profound power of her own spell.
You give your faithful sword a shake to get the blood off and look around.
“Hell, even I could’ve killed a guy who had his feet pulled out from under him,” Myrmidon Monk says, casually eviscerating the throat of the man in front of him. It’s no doubt thanks to Myrmidon Monk that none of the giant man’s friends interfered with your fight. You thank him for his help, then quickly reassume a fighting stance. Four enemies left?
“…If you’re going to thank me, do it later,” Myrmidon Monk adds with a clack of his mandibles. “This isn’t over yet.”
“He’s right. Besides, I’ll be wanting a little thanks myself,” Female Warrior says with a laugh, her face flush as she drives her spear under an enemy’s clavicle. The weapon finds its way through the chinks in the man’s armor and has soon claims his life. Three left now.
“Looks like I won’t have much to do till this is all over,” Half-Elf Scout remarks nervously, the lighthearted comment an attempt to ease the tension he feels.
You just shrug, size up the remaining opponents—thrown into a panic by the loss of their leader—and then dive in.
P-please spare me! I surrender! Y-yeah, that’s it! I—I surrender…!!”
It’s not long after that the last surviving opponent throws his rusty sword aside and begs for mercy. The sword skips across the greasy stone tiles noisily. You kick it away.
“I’m begging you! Spare me my life…! I swear I’ll leave the dungeon; I’ll never come back to this town…!”
There’s no compulsion to treat bandits and rogues like human beings. Especially not ones who skulk around the dungeon like monsters.
You could save this highwayman’s life. Or you could kill him. What to do? You let your sword rest low in one hand but always at the ready. You look at your companions.
“Hmm…,” Female Warrior says.
“I don’t care either way,” Myrmidon Monk comments. Both of them recognize that the battle is over and appear to have relaxed. Half-Elf Scout simply shrugs and shakes his head. As for your cousin… Well, you think you can guess.
That just leaves…
“We ought to offer him salvation.” Female Bishop is the last to speak, and when she does so, her voice is terribly calm, almost devoid of emotion. You raise an eyebrow as she shuffles forward, past you, raising her sword and scales with a ringing of metal. The bandit likewise regards the young woman who has appeared before him as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “If this man here truly has had a change of heart, then we can spare him his life. Nothing simpler.”
Hmm, you grunt. Well, it’s all the same to you. The battle has already been decided. You return your sword to its sheath, clicking it into place. Female Bishop smiles faintly and nods, then turns toward you with a swirling motion.
That’s when the bandit grins, baring his teeth, and leaps up with a dagger drawn from his pouch. “I’ve got you now, you damn—”
In the same instant, his head explodes with a sound not unlike a ripe tomato.
“And if he has not changed, then he is fit only for death.”
Turning again with theatrical grace, Female Bishop pulls out the sword and scales with a flourish. The plates of the scales crashed into the man’s head, splitting his skull open. There’s a spray of blood and brains, almost artistic, across the wall, and you can hear your cousin suck in a breath.
“…I’m sorry to say, he made the choice himself.” Female Bishop, still sounding completely calm, doesn’t even spare a glance at the twitching corpse. The cold smile that comes across her cheek is flecked with blood.
Hmm, you grunt. Well, it’s all the same to you. You would have been content either way.
After a moment’s thought, you figure out what you want to say. “You look like you could hold your own in the front row.”
“Heavens, me? Don’t say such frightening things,” Female Bishop responds, sounding once again like a young girl; a frown creases her face as if she’s genuinely scared by the idea. You give her a light clap on the shoulder as a show of thanks, then motion to your cousin.
“Oh, uh… Right! Leave it to me!” You can hear nervousness and hesitation. But also vigor that overmatches them both. Your cousin hurries to Female Bishop. She offers her a word of appreciation for her effort, then gives her a waterskin and tactfully urges her to a corner of the room.
This is something about your cousin that you respect from the bottom of your heart.
“Hey… Are you all right?” As you watch the two women go off together, Female Warrior tugs on your sleeve. You shake your head and say that you don’t know. At the very least, it’s not so bad that you can’t go on. People each have their own heartstrings, some more sensitive, some less, and sometimes emotions can flare. Perhaps the bandit’s actions, the way he begged for his life, created such a moment for Female Bishop. When you consider the deep wounds she’s suffered in her past, it’s not hard to imagine. So long as she doesn’t bring it up, though, you feel it’s not your place to pry.
“You…,” Female Warrior starts, and then she shakes her head, “do have your good side.”
You shrug, then walk over to a pile of junk the bandits accumulated in a corner of the room. You tell Female Warrior you’ll trust her to stand guard, to which she replies listlessly, “Yeah, sure.” But you think it’s all right. You have faith in her now.
image Half-Elf Scout and Myrmidon Monk follow you to go through the assembled loot. Honestly—this is what keeps people coming back to hack and slash.
“It’s how a man makes his money,” Half-Elf Scout says. “Can’t stop even if you wanted to.”
‘That’s how adventurers are.’ You nod at him, then reach a gloved hand into the pile.
“Pain in the ass,” Myrmidon Monk clacks—but you thank the two of them. Because neither of them said anything about what Female Bishop did just a few moments ago. As the leader of the party, it’s only natural that you should feel grateful to them for being considerate of another member.
They look at each other and then declare, almost in unison, ““Hey, it’s nothing.””
You chuckle and drop the subject, determined to continue your exploration.
Everything you find—perhaps you ought to have expected this—is adventuring gear. Brand-new armor, weapons, empty pouches, and rank tags. You load all these things, one by one, into one of the hempen sacks you were given as body bags. These beasts seem to have eaten up every adventurer who was careless enough to venture too deep into the first floor. Literally, you suspect—for there is no way to get a proper meal down here in the dungeon. A look in the stewpot makes it all too clear what the men had been living off. Maybe, you think to yourself, what Female Bishop did was exactly the right thing.
As Myrmidon Monk mentioned, what you encountered here were not men but monsters.
“…Yo, Captain,” Half-Elf Scout says suddenly. You look over to find him despondently holding a dirty cloth and some leather armor. The cloth seems to have served as a hair band; a few strands of golden hair still cling to it. The armor appears to have been white once, though you can hardly tell for the blood and gore splashed across it.
You recognize them both.
You glance back at Female Warrior, still keeping a vigilant watch, and at Female Bishop and your cousin just across from her. You can’t catch what they’re talking about. But you see your cousin giggle, and even Female Bishop’s stiff face relaxes into a smile.
No special need to say anything.
Having made the decision, you toss the hair band and armor into the bag.
They just look familiar, that’s all. There must be a million adventurers with golden hair or white armor. You murmur as much aloud, and Myrmidon Monk responds with a twitch of his antennae. “…I didn’t see anything at all.” Clack, clack go his mandibles, and then he makes a holy sigil in front of his chest. “May all those who died here be blessed with a fine wind.”
You nod and stand. You’ve done all that needs to be done. You have no more business here.
Let’s go.
“…Come on—let’s get going,” your cousin says to Female Bishop then. “It’s been a hard day. We need to make sure we get a nice, long rest.”
“Right. Right…,” Female Bishop replies, and the two of them get to their feet. You turn your eyes toward Female Warrior, and much as you expected, you find her giggling with that ambiguous expression on her face.
You and your companions form up, then check one another’s equipment. Nothing amiss. And no serious injuries, either. You nod your approval, then lead everyone out of the chamber, preparing to make your way back to the surface.
You say something to Female Bishop, who responds, “Oh, sorry,” and quickly riffles through her belongings for the map. Her guidance is clear and sure, with no hint of hesitation, and you start to think this is going to be okay.
Thankfully, as you proceed from hallway to chamber, chamber to hallway, you don’t encounter any wandering monsters. As you explore deeper and deeper into the dungeon, you’re going to have to start taking the journey home into account. Every warrior, however experienced, has a limit to their strength and focus. Repeated battles wear away one’s life. Even were it not so, how many chances does this Dungeon of the Dead really offer for life?
“I admit it was tough…,” your cousin says suddenly, when you reach the top of the ladder leading from the second floor to the first. You’ve taken a very brief break to collect yourselves and have a drink. She’s sat right down on the stone floor of the hallway and is smiling as if somehow relieved. “But now it’s a little less dangerous for those girls to adventure, huh?”
‘Sure’ is all you say.
The surface is practically before your eyes now.
When you reach the entrance—the exit—of the dungeon, you find it filled with a gentle light, so different from the darkness below. Up in the sky, you see the stars and the twin moons shining. It is well into the night by now.
The royal knight on guard duty must sense something from your demeanor, because she simply bows silently to you. After all, she can’t miss the blood-soaked bag you’re carrying or the evidence of a major battle.
You just shrug at her as you go past, walking slowly along the road to town.
“Oof, man… Talk about tired…,” Half-Elf Scout says.
“My feet are killing me. And I’m sweating from head to toe. I just want to wipe myself off…” Female Warrior groans miserably.
You nod at them; it’s understandable. This was your first time down to the second floor, and you had to endure a huge battle, to boot. You don’t believe you made any specific errors of judgment, but all the same, you’re impressed that everyone was able to keep pace.
You could thank them from the bottom of your heart, or you could thank Fate and Chance for keeping everyone safe.
“…I know!” your cousin says, clapping her hands as she patters up to you with her face shining. “It’s been such tough adventuring—why don’t we take a little break tomorrow?”
“Wha—? But…” Female Bishop’s face clouds over, and she looks at the others to see how they react.
Stupid second cousin, always dropping these ideas out of the blue.
You see that Female Bishop’s face is clean; your cousin must have been kind enough to wipe off the blood spatter. Even so, the tinge of fretfulness is unmistakable, and you can feel her getting nervous again. “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks.
“Well, we worked hard today. Didn’t we?” your cousin says back, looking at you. You think about it for a moment, then nod and say it’s probably all right. For one thing, everything you’ve heard suggests the pace of your party is considerably faster than those of most other adventurers. Although maybe that’s because…
“Not a man jack of them cares about anything but making money. Not that it matters to me.”
The remark Myrmidon Monk spit out is right.
All too few adventurers are truly interested in discovering the source of the Death that lurks in the depths of the dungeon.
The closer you get to town, the more ruddy-faced, grinning adventurers you see wearing ostentatious equipment. On some level, you could say those rogues were simply enthralled by the dungeon’s riches, just like the rest. There are those enthralled by the Death, by this awful maze. They’re like wandering monsters themselves, Non-Prayer Characters. That’s why you must challenge the second floor and, someday, the third. And you need to take care of yourselves now if you’re going to keep moving forward.
“True that,” Half-Elf Scout says. “Heading into parts unknown while we’re still rundown? That’s a death wish if I ever heard one.”
You’re glad that he agrees. In any case, the goal for today is to simply get back to the inn. Selling the equipment you found (dead adventurers swing no swords) and delivering the rank tags to the temple can wait until tomorrow.
As you say all this, you register how tired you are yourself. Don’t forget—you both fought and used magic today.
“I told you, rest is best.”
It remains a mystery to you just why your cousin is grinning as brightly as she is. But as you return a tired smile, you can’t help feeling…at home. It is the height of good fortune that you’ve encountered such rare and fine companions.
Full of the satisfaction of a job well done, you eventually collapse onto the pile of straw in the stables. You fully expect to sleep like a log tonight…
But ironically, complete exhaustion can actually make sleep lighter. Maybe some of the nerves of battle are still with you, because it seems like the slightest sound grates on your ears.
You sit up off the surprisingly comfortable pile of straw, picking bits of the stuff from your clothes. Half-Elf Scout, nearby, mumbles something in his sleep. Maybe Myrmidon Monk’s finding it hard to settle down, too, because he’s tossing and turning over in a corner of the stable.
Careful not to wake the others, you grab your beloved sword and slowly work your way outside. A pleasantly cool night breeze wafts a sweet aroma to your nostrils. Soap, perhaps. Is the fact that you can notice that a sign of how much your level has increased?
Now that you think about it, how long has it been since you came to this town? You’ve found excellent companions, adventured in the dungeon, and survived bouts of mortal combat. Each only represents a small bit of experience, but together they’ve really changed you.
“…And? Ever gonna talk to me?”
One of those priceless companions is standing just outside the stable. Female Warrior smiles at you, and, just as she once did, you beckon her to come take a seat on a pile of straw.
“Sure… Mm, soft as ever.” She sits surprisingly lightly, then draws her knees up to her chin, looking pleased. “Say,” she says, tilting her head like a child. “Were you hoping for something today?”
You smile and shake your head. No.
“Huh,” she mumbles with disinterest.
But what, you wonder, is this about? Isn’t she just as tired as you?
“Hmm? For some reason, the more tired I am, the more awake I feel.” She obviously went right back to her room to clean herself off, because her hair is glistening. “I guess you could say I’m…killing time?”
Makes sense.
Both of you realize this conversation is no different than it was last night. So what comes next must be the same, too. You wait silently, expectantly.
“…Aw, who am I kidding? That’s just an excuse…” She glances at you out of the corner of her eye and smiles faintly. “I thought maybe I should say thank you while I have the chance. Or something like that.”
And you, just like the other night, look up at the moons shining in the sky and smile.
‘Truth is, haven’t done much to be thanked for.’
You made good on the responsibility you accepted when you became party leader, and you brought everyone home safely. That’s really it—if anything, you should be thanking them.
You tell her all this as casually as you can.
“…True.”
Female Warrior imitates you, looking up at the moons and squinting against the night breeze. For a while, neither of you says anything.
You could say something to her, or you could keep the silence. After a moment’s thought, you tell her calmly that if there’s anything she wants to talk about, she should feel free.
“Oh, very encouraging. I think you’ve been spending a bit too much time with a certain monk.” She giggles, but you weren’t really joking. You meant every word. If she wants to talk about something, she can certainly talk; if she doesn’t want to, you don’t intend to drag it out of her. You’re happy to stay quiet if that’s what she wants or to talk if she would prefer. It’s not as if you have to know every detail of each other’s stories to be companions or friends.
But—if you had to call it one way or the other, you would say she looks like she wants to talk. In fact, she just said she’d come to talk while she could, so she shouldn’t be surprised that you’re asking.
“Hmm…,” Female Warrior murmurs noncommittally, her lips creasing into that teasing smile of hers. “I think you’re just humoring me. Did you learn how from that big sister of yours?”
She’s your second cousin, you insist. And this has nothing to do with her. It’s purely a matter of your own personality.
“Okay—so say I don’t want to talk?”
Then that will be what it will be. She can stay and watch the moons without a word or go back to her room and try to sleep. You return this answer as nonchalantly as possible.
Female Warrior watches you for a long moment, then finally, with a note of exasperation, says, “…Honestly. Sometimes I think I’m gonna go crazy talking to you…”
You don’t say anything back, just shrug. Female Warrior sniffs and pouts. Finally, she continues. “Listen, I… I’ve always believed that what happens twice happens three times.”
‘What happens twice?’
“Mm.” She nods. “Remember how when you met me, I was asking the temple to do some burials? Well…that was the second group.”
You do remember she seemed immensely calm despite the fact that her party had just been destroyed. You had assumed it was an attitude born from deep experience with the dungeon, but even so, you were surprised.
“When I started out, you know, I had some…older sisters, you might call them. Girls from the same orphanage. We figured that if we were going to be adventurers, we should all start out together.”
You’ve heard that’s quite common. Those girls you met were the same way. Not unusual at all.
Of course, whether children or elderly, everyone faces the same conditions. You have to play the game with the cards you’re dealt, win or lose with what is in your hand. Complain if you like—it won’t change anything. The dice of Fate and Chance treat all equally. Even the gods.
“Well, I guess I had good luck, if nothing else.
“Got attacked by some bushwackers, and the older girls all died.”
Female Warrior actually giggles a little as she says this; you can’t imagine what’s in her mind or her heart right now. She might be the only one who knows. You decide not to indulge in idle speculation.
“We thought, if there’s a Death down in the dungeon, maybe there’s a Life, too. But it didn’t go so well, that…”
You can’t judge the depth of feeling concealed in those whispered words.
The dead do not come back to life. That’s one of the immutable rules of this Four-Cornered World. Even the Resurrection miracle performed by the clerics at the temple only calls life back from the cusp of death. Like the pips of the dice, death cannot be revoked or changed. If the possibility exists at all, it must rest only in some legacy from the Age of the Gods or perhaps in a divine miracle—a real one.
But if all that dwells in the depths of the dungeon is the Death—if it is something truly beyond human understanding—then she simply gambled on that tiny sliver of a chance.
“With everyone dying around me, I figured I had to get out of there quickly.” If she dropped dead before she could bring them back, who would there be to resurrect her companions?
At this, a sly smile crosses your face, and you remark that that’s a poor excuse. What are the chances of a newly minted adventurer getting out of the proving grounds alive? Of course, you figure she knows that better than you do.
“Sorry,” Female Warrior says now with a catlike rasp in the back of her throat. “Ha-ha. It was just a joke. I made it up. Every word. Just thought I’d tease you a bit, that’s all.” She practically leaps to her feet. She kicks her long legs like a child playing a game. You don’t get up. You simply watch her. You ask if she’s feeling better.
“…Mn. I’m fine now. Thanks. I’m starting to want my bed, you know? …Think I’ll head back.”
You might have tomorrow off, but you did go on an adventure today. Best to get some rest, you tell her. She just waves her hand over her shoulder as you watch her go…
“Oh, one more thing,” she says. She turns back to you, and the gossamer moonlight paints her face a pale white as she whispers, “…This one’s real.” She giggles, and her face blossoms into a smile.
Before you can say anything back, she leaves the stables behind. You take care to make sure her name is held deep in your heart—not the number she bears but her real name. You won’t let yourself forget it.
Now that you have a chance to think, you’re startled by how much happened in the course of one day, one adventure.
The night is quiet again now that you’re alone. The only sounds you hear are those that drift to you from the inn, the opening of the gate, and occasional footsteps.
You know well why the gates might open at this hour, why a crowd of people might come into the town. Another village or city somewhere has succumbed to the Death, the people there have lost their homes, and at the end of their wanderings, they find themselves at this fortress city.
image It’s a strange thing.
Everyone seems to wind up here, even though this city is built hard upon the wellspring of the Death that threatens the world.
There’s the loot that seems to flow endlessly from the dungeon. Whether you’re an adventurer or merchant, you can make a living here. However listless your steps along the streets of the city might be, you may enter into the dungeon with a glimmer of hope. There you might be swallowed by the Death, never to return.
Suddenly caught up in this chilling thought, you grip your beloved sword in your hand especially hard.
What is the Death? What is the dungeon?
The only way to know is to delve deep and find out.
A white wisp of smoke curls into the sky from the dragon’s mountain far away before it’s borne off on the wind to who knows where.