Goblin Slayer - Volume SS2.01 - Chapter 3.1

Step 3 - Bushwackers And Highwaymen

“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.

‘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.