Goblin Slayer - Volume SS2.02 - Chapter 5.1

Step 5 - Trial of Champions

There is nothing so dangerous as a dragon’s open jaws. But knowing that and seeing it for yourself are two different things.

“Whoa-hoh!” Half-Elf Scout flies back out of the proverbial tiger’s jaws—here it would be the dragon’s jaws, you suppose—but you aren’t as nimble as he is. At almost the same moment as you shout—you’re not sure if you say get down or get away or what—the dragon roars, and its throat expands. The next instant, a great rush of superheated air fills the dungeon chamber, scorching your skin. That’s both figuratively and not figuratively. The great, hot breath isn’t actually fire, to be sure, but it’s more than enough to swell your skin even as you watch.

“Ngh—hrrgh—hkk!” Behind you, your cousin collapses, clawing at her throat, sounding as if she’s being choked. Her labored breathing makes it clear her life is in danger. You spare a glance behind you to find her not so much pale as ghostly white. You stop your feet from their instinctive urge to turn around, forcing yourself to step forward onto the front line. If the battle line breaks now—if you go to her—the only thing that waits for all of you is certain death.

Myrmidon Monk is clearly thinking the same thing; he waves his antennae, looking as agonized as you feel. “It’s poison—don’t breathe!!”

Dammit!

You drop to one knee but force yourself to rise again, desperate to find some way to fulfill your duty as part of the front row here and now.

No—you try to make yourself stand up, but the powerful poison gas saps the strength from your body moment by moment. A burning pain runs through you; with every breath, your lungs feel like they’re on fire. Beside you, Female Warrior clings to her spear, gasping as if drowning even though you’re on dry land. Neither of you has many hit points left, and another swipe from the dragon’s claws or jaws or tail will be enough to finish you off.

And that’s those of you in the front row, who have trained and strengthened yourselves. How much worse will it be for those in the back row? So you must go on. You have to try to block the gas from reaching your cousin and the others, even just some of it.

Well, look at this.

The exact size of the dungeon never seems quite clear, but apparently it can accommodate that mountain of a body, those wings folded atop it. You wonder how many years the scales, dark green as if covered with moss, have seen. One need hardly mention the claws and teeth and tail that would trample the average adventurer like dust underfoot. And above all, there’s the dark red eyes that burn in those deep eye sockets.

Down in these depths where there’s no cover but only the endless wire frame—to think you would meet a monster like this down here. A green dragon!

Legend has it that the former hero, a Platinum-ranked adventurer, faced such a creature all alone… The very attempt would merit being counted among the brave.

If the dragon gets one more turn, you will die. You’re surprised to discover that, confronted with that simple fact, you’re still calm enough to reflect on old tales.

“You’re…mine!!”

Just another way of saying that if we don’t give it one more turn, we’ll survive.

A cape flutters as it flies over your head from behind you. Half-Elf Scout, who stopped only briefly in the gas’s area of effect, drives straight at the dragon with all his agility. The butterfly-like blade flashes in his hand, making a whining sound as he throws it.

“Graahhh!!”

A flash of light.

To the dragon, it must have looked like a silver beam piercing through the dungeon. In reality, it’s the knife lodging itself in the dragon’s eyeball. The creature roars hideously, thrashing around, its neck flailing as it gazes up at the ceiling. You see blood dribbling from under the knife, and if a dragon can bleed, then it can die.

“Here I go!” Female Bishop manages to cry, perhaps emboldened by the sight of the injured monster. “Ventus…crescunt…oriens!! Arise and go forth, wind!!”

She manages to get just enough air into her lungs to call out these words of true power and then to blow on the horn she pulls from her belt. A tremendous gust springs up at once, filling the room and dispersing the dark green gas.

The Blast Wind spell!

Female Bishop’s utter force of will was able to surpass that of the reeling green dragon and rewrite reality. You’re literally seeing the fruits of all her study of magic with your cousin.

Speaking of your cousin, though, she isn’t able to overcome the effects of the toxic cloud; she remains slumped on the chamber floor. Female Bishop finally manages to get some air into her delicate chest and hurries over to your cousin. “I’ll leave the rest of the fighting to you…!”

“Good by me!” Myrmidon Monk clacks, then intones the words of Blessing on you and Female Warrior: “O my god of the wind that comes and goes, may fortune smile on our road!”

The Trade God is the deity of travel and the wind. Your blade is enveloped in a swirl of holy breeze. With this tailwind at your backs, you and Female Warrior rush forward toward the dragon.

“Yaaahh!”

One! Two! Your weapons strike out in turn at the dragon’s exposed throat. Your master once told you that a would-be dragon slayer ought to aim at the weaker scales of the throat…

You’re not sure if that’s completely true or not, but your katana, with the vacuum around it, plunges easily into the dragon’s flesh. The creature’s blood is hot like molten lava as it spews forth, a dark, gruesome red.

Female Warrior, who stabbed the creature in the side, jumps back from the mess with a shout. She doesn’t sound too anxious, just as normal. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see her face is slick with the sweat of terror.

“I’m fine; I’m fine…!” she says quickly, noticing your gaze. You likewise reset your blade in a fighting stance.

“Try this on for—hack!—size!!” your cousin calls out (interrupted only by a weak cough), leaning on Female Bishop for support. Her hair—her pride and joy—is frazzled out everywhere, her skin is red and swollen where it’s visible under her torn garments, and her eyes are tearing up. Nonetheless, she sticks her hands out in front of herself, intoning the words of her spell melodically: “Tonitrus oriens iacta!”

The white flash of lightning drives away the darkness of the dungeon chamber. The branching bolt describes a series of geometrically impossible angles, lashing out at the dragon faster than the speed of sound.

“Hrrrgh…ghh…!” Your cousin’s fingers are singed by the tremendous outpouring of magical power, but she never flinches. Even a mighty dragon, subjected to a blow like this—

“No—you’ve got to be kidding…!” Female Warrior cries, shattering your optimistic assessment. As the last speckles of lightning fade from your vision, you see the huge body is still twitching. The creature is bleeding from its eye, throat, and belly, smoke rises from its scorched scales, and yet it’s still staring you down. Its gaze is deadly; the monster has no intent of letting you escape alive.

But…

You feel the same way.

The instant the dragon opens its jaws, you slide forward.

‘Sagitta…inflammarae…raedius.’ Three words of true power. A will-o’-the-wisp flies from your fingers and neatly down the dragon’s throat.

“ ”

You can almost hear the creature swallow, and then there’s a long beat. You hold your breath.

The dragon starts to swell from inside, then flames come spurting out from its wounds, and finally it explodes.

“Fwoooo! Sure never expected the likes of a dragon down here!” Half-Elf Scout exclaims as he retrieves his knife, which lodged itself in the wall after being flung free of the exploding monster along with copious amounts of dragon gore. Ever since he got that butterfly blade, he’s shown himself to be a stalwart member of the front row. It takes a load off your shoulders to know you have another capable fighter, but he’s still a bit nervous in the thick of combat, and you can hear the fatigue in his voice. When you consider that there may yet be a treasure chest to deal with after all this, you start to question the wisdom of your formation, but…

“Pshaw. Of course dragons live in the dungeon. Always have,” Myrmidon Monk scoffs from the back row, and it’s hard to ignore how reassuring it is to have him there. You’re learning every day that there is no single, perfect way to approach an adventure.

“Yeah, maybe, when you take a dragon quest. They’re not supposed to be just wandering around down here,” Half-Elf Scout shoots back.

“These days, you’re lucky if one doesn’t jump out of the tall grass at you.”

“Yeah, that’s great.”

You ignore the two of them—their conversation isn’t going anywhere—and pat Female Warrior on the shoulder. “Hmm?” she says, turning to you. She’s smiling, but her face is distinctly pale. You’re not one to talk—but you do think maybe a long weapon like her spear takes a lot of energy to use. Especially against a dragon. You don’t blame her for looking a little spent.

“Aw, I’ve still got plenty of fight left in me,” she says, pursing her lips. “I guess I was just a little surprised, you know? I’d be happy not to meet any more dragons today.”

You agree completely. It’s time to call it a day on this delve. You inform the rest of your party of your decision, then ask Female Warrior to keep watch for a moment while you get your breathing under control.

“You got it. I’ve got my eyes peeled,” she replies promptly, sitting down against one wall. You nod, then turn to the other members of your party. You figure you can trust Myrmidon Monk to look after Half-Elf Scout; what really concerns you is…

“Your big sis is fine; don’t worry!”

…your second cousin.

You frown at her where she sits against the far wall of the room with Female Bishop attending to her. Her fingers are still slightly blackened from the overcasting attempt, and Female Bishop bandages them. They look quite painful.

“Thankfully, it’s not a life-threatening injury—no need to supplicate for a miracle,” Female Bishop mentions as she puts away her healing implements and wipes the sweat from her brow. “But those fingers will need some first aid when we get back to the surface, or they might end up scarred.”

“Yuck, I don’t want that,” your cousin says, but her tone is lighthearted—even though it could be a real concern. You reiterate that the party will withdraw for the day and urge your cousin not to overtax herself on the way back. “Sure, of course not… Still, I’m sort of shocked that my Lightning spell didn’t do the trick.”

You, mulling it over, say that you don’t think it’s that surprising. Your opponent might not have been a very powerful dragon, but it was still a dragon. Without the wind spirit’s blessing, even your and Female Warrior’s blades might have hardly scratched it. You suspect it was chiefly luck that your Firebolt worked as well as it did.

The dice of Fate and Chance refuse to let any contest be decided purely by the difference in level.

“Guess you aren’t the only one who needs to keep brushing up on their magic!” your cousin remarks. Still, anyone who belittles the worth of real effort can’t even dream of questing in the dungeon. You grin a little at your cousin, who’s suddenly champing at the bit, and remind her not to overwork Female Bishop.

Female Bishop shakes her head furiously. “Oh, it’s okay! It’s all very helpful—I actually asked her to include me…” She seems to be smiling. “Every time we open a spell book, we make all kinds of fascinating discoveries. It’s wonderful!”

“That’s so true!” your cousin says. “I’m amazed at how good she is at finding things in those old texts.” Come to think of it, she has been studying these things for a long time—or at least, so she claims.

“But I still have so far to go,” Female Bishop says. When you point out that she seems to be putting her experience to good use, she blushes and looks at the ground. “I still haven’t even been able to shape a spell to extract that Demon Core we found…”

Hmm? That’s an expression you don’t recognize—but, well, as long as Female Bishop is around, it’ll be all right. You think.

Regardless, you reiterate your warning not to overexert herself on the way home, and then you let out a breath. If your scout is feeling up to it, you think it’s time to investigate that treasure chest. You’ve defeated the monster in this room, but there’s no sense hanging around for too long.

“Yeah, they’ll be here before long,” Myrmidon Monk says, sensing your approach as he stands vigilant guard.

As you proceed in your delves, even you’ve noticed the shadows that seem to float in the corners of the chambers and the halls. An armored man, a man who looks like a robed wizard, and a young woman who appears like a priest…

The best you can hope for is that they might be skaven or ogres.

“More newbie hunters? Or maybe…rotting corpses.”

“What a nasty thought… And a lot of trouble,” Female Warrior remarks—whether or not they were simply attracted by the Death in the dungeon, or if they sprang forth from the Death itself.

You shrug gently and say that at least they’re not slimes. Female Warrior smiles and jabs gently at you with the butt of her spear. You dodge neatly and call out to Half-Elf Scout.

“I’m on it, Cap. Good to go. Let’s take a look at that chest and then get on out of here.” He stands up with a nimble movement, taking a swig from his waterskin and then wiping his mouth. He works his seven tools carefully in the lock, feeling for traps—as you know by now, his technique is something to behold. As one of your party’s warriors, it’s your duty to stand by as he works, keeping a careful watch. Half-Elf Scout has the most dangerous job of all, and you have no desire to leave one of your friends high and dry.

So the exploration of the fourth floor went smoothly. Except for the distressing failure to find any staircase. You sigh almost without realizing it…and then yelp as Female Warrior takes advantage of the instantaneous lapse of attention to get in another jab.

The truth is, to your surprise, the fourth floor is of tremendously simple construction. Nothing more than a single long series of chambers. Compared with the first floor, with its mysterious dark zone, and the third floor with its traps, this level is almost disarmingly straightforward. Yes, the monsters seem tougher than what you’ve encountered above. The awful green dragon is a rare occurrence, but giant spiders, vampires, and werewolves roam the rest of the floor. It would be wrong to call it easy, exactly, but it is different.

You explore carefully, walk slowly, fight bravely, and survive all the way down the series of rooms to find…nothing. Only more of the endless loot that comes welling up out of the dungeon. There appears to be nothing more, nowhere further to go. That simple fact, more than any powerful monster, thwarts your attempts to proceed—your attempts to reach your goal.

“…Got it,” Half-Elf Scout says, and you hear the lid of the chest open with a click, gold coins shimmering inside. You take it in from the corner of one eye, but you can’t restrain a great sigh.

You return to the surface, and when you get back to the fortress city, you and your party find yourselves caught up in a dizzying spectacle. Adventurers are rushing everywhere, lights are burning though it’s deep in the watches of the night, and silver and gold are veritably flying. The endless loot that comes welling up out of the dungeon has turned this into a city that never sleeps.

“Well, what with all the work we’ve done, maybe we oughtta consider the Royal Suite tonight,” Half-Elf Scout jokes as you dodge the crowd. You aren’t exactly following a vow of poverty, but it’s true that you’ve spent all your nights thus far in the stables. The women have been afforded a large single room in the economy accommodations, but finer living is within your grasp.

After the party’s shared expenses are deducted, everything else goes to your individual purses, and you can do with it what you like.

You toss back that it doesn’t make much difference to you either way.

“Me, I’m…I’m quite all right where we are now,” Female Bishop says, uncharacteristically (though hesitantly) voicing an objection. She walks smack in the middle of your group, and you’re honestly thrilled to hear her express an opinion.

Your cousin evidently feels the same way, because she claps her hands, smiling. “Heh-heh-heh, it’s fun to chat together till the wee hours, isn’t it?”

Your second cousin is obviously tired—you chide her, saying she’d better get right to sleep; otherwise, tomorrow is going to be awfully difficult.

“Not even!” your cousin replies a touch hotly, but it’s all good.

Well, not all good. But good enough.

You worked your way through a lot of chambers today. You suppose tomorrow could be spared for a day off. Thankfully, you have plenty of money. And your level, it seems, is now high enough that you can take on a green dragon. No reason to feel remotely concerned.

“Hmm…,” Female Warrior says to this, favoring you with a glance. “I think I’ve got another day of hard work in me yet.”

“Eh, when we want to rest, we can rest,” Myrmidon Monk interjects before you can say anything. He fixes you with his compound eyes, and suddenly you find yourself wondering how you must look to him. How this whole world must look. “I don’t much care either way,” he adds, somehow both casual and weighty at once, and you take in a little breath.

You look into thin air as if you might find the words there, and finally—actually, it probably only takes a second—you open your mouth.

‘We rest, then.’

Myrmidon Monk’s mandibles clack at your pronouncement, and Female Warrior replies with an unenthusiastic, “Yessir.”

“A day off…,” Female Bishop murmurs, sounding somewhat melancholy. “I wonder what I should do with it.”

“Studying would be good—but so would shopping!” your cousin says eagerly, and they start in on an energetic conversation. You continue forward silently, the girls’ voices behind you…

“Hoh, Cap. Not gonna drop in at the tavern today?” Half-Elf Scout asks, and you suddenly realize you’ve walked straight past the Golden Knight. You stop and look up at the sign. The chatter of adventurers produces a rowdy, friendly sound from within. Maybe youngsters who have just arrived in the fortress city with nothing but a dream. Or maybe a party that’s fought a successful battle in the dungeon today.

Then again, maybe some inside are drinking to the memory of lost companions. Seeking the endless fortune of the depths, they come to this town, try themselves against the dungeon, fight, kill, survive…

…And eventually are swallowed up by the Death.

Is the fourth floor the true extent of that Death? You don’t know. You don’t know, but somehow, you can’t muster any desire to drink tonight. You don’t feel like seeing other adventurers, either. Least of all the Knight of Diamonds.

You let the others know that you’re going to skip the tavern and get some rest, but you pass the party’s purse to Half-Elf Scout so the rest of them can enjoy themselves. It’s no bad thing for them to have a few moments without their leader every once in a while. You say good-bye to them and head for the inn.

“Oh…” Female Bishop seems about to say something to you, but nothing follows this short interjection. You stop for a moment but figure that if she says nothing further, it must not be that important, and you resume walking.

As you make your way alone through the city, the thing that most catches your eye is the ever-increasing number of adventurers. They’ve all come with an eye on the endless loot that comes welling up out of the dungeon. If the extreme end of the fourth floor is as far as they ever go, they won’t care.

You look up at the sky, the starry night slightly diluted by the lights of the town, and see a thin ribbon of smoke drifting into the air. It comes from the fiery mountain where a dragon is said to live. But that has nothing to do with the adventurers in this town.

Suddenly, you’re seized by the impulse to stop everyone you see and tell them that the dungeon is a dead end, that it stops at the fourth floor. You want to demand whether they understand what that means, mock them, rant and rave at them. But you know they would only stare at you with blank eyes.

It’s not long before you arrive at your accustomed inn. Today’s delve has left you immensely tired. Is it because of that green dragon? No; that encounter was at once unexpected and totally expected. The dive itself went largely without incident. And yet your body is like lead. Once you sit down, you feel the strength drain out of you; it’s like your arms and legs are lashed to the earth, and you can’t move.

Well, some days are like that. It’s not such a big deal. Tomorrow you’ll rest, and then it will be fine, won’t it?

And nothing will change. Not even a little.

You’ll dive back down in the dungeon, fight monsters, survive, find treasure, and come back home. When you think about it, isn’t that simple loop enough? Even if there’s nothing more?

Still feeling like the last, smoking ashes of a burned-down fire, you drift off into a restless sleep. When you open your eyes to a gentle rustling sound, you don’t know how much time has passed. You see the familiar silhouette of Half-Elf Scout moving through the dark.

“Bah, just couldn’t settle down in the bigwigs’ room,” he says with an apologetic smile, as if by way of explanation. He seems to have realized he woke you up. “Bed that soft, feels like it makes y’older instead of better.”

You nod your understanding, to which he says, “Night, Cap,” and throws himself down on the hay. That must be Myrmidon Monk you see in the other corner. With his compound eyes, you don’t know whether he’s awake or asleep. Your thoughts still leaden from sleep, you peer outside the stables. In the distance, the lights of the inn flicker faintly. You try to remember which room is the economy one.

Maybe she’s not coming tonight, you think suddenly. It would make sense—you have no business together—so why does it leave you feeling so lonely?

You smile at the ridiculous question, force your eyes shut again, and try to find some sleep among the hay.

Whatever happens, dawn will break in another few hours.

Even if it won’t solve anything.

“Let’s go shopping, O leader!” Female Bishop chimes, and you drop your spoon as you squeeze out an E-er…

You don’t worry about the spoon sinking into your breakfast bowl of barley porridge but turn slowly to Female Bishop.

Things are always a little slow at the Golden Knight first thing in the morning.

The patrons are mostly those who have finally returned from a night in the dungeon or those who are about to go back down, sipping a drink and grabbing a bite to eat. Those who have just arrived in the city look around for companions, nervous expressions on their faces. Some sit quietly as if hoping someone might come to them, but they’ll learn better by nightfall, you suspect. A wizard or a monk, they might get offers, but the no-name third son of some farmer from the countryside—not happening.

“Ooh, then maybe I’ll ask you to pick something up for me. Let’s see, I’d sure like to eat something sweet.”

“Good idea. I think…I need some catalysts. And something sweet, too!”

“Come t’think of it, we’re gettin’ a little low on potions. Be a big help if you could grab some while you’re out.”

“Makes no difference to me either way.”

While you’ve been busy thinking, your companions have evidently already concluded that you’re going out. You wish they would wait—take a step back. You tell them you can take care of those kinds of chores on your own. A party of one. That’s all you need!

You think you’re being considerate, but Female Warrior immediately exclaims, “Whaaat?” deeply scandalized. “The girl actually got up the courage to invite you along, and that’s how you respond? Poor thing!” She doesn’t seem genuinely worried; it’s more like she’s teasing you. She reaches out for Female Bishop, wrapping her arms around the girl protectively, even as Female Bishop protests, “No, it’s fine…”

“Hrm!” your second cousin announces, suddenly the polar opposite of her usual cheery self. “How dare you embarrass a young woman like that!”

Hey, that’s not what happened! You pick up your spoon—sunk up to the handle in your porridge—wipe it off as best you can, and make a show of resuming your breakfast. From the amused gazes that settle on you, though, you gather that this didn’t come out of nowhere.

Who was the instigator? You express your doubts that your second cousin is capable of such a thing (you ignore her “How rude!”).

“Gosh, look at this guy, am I right?” Female Warrior says, nuzzling Female Bishop’s cheek.

“S-sure, you’re right,” Female Bishop replies with a nod, looking embarrassed but not exactly unhappy. As for you, you’re certainly pleased that she’s getting along so well with the other girls, but…

“Not that unusual for another party member to invite you shopping, is it?” Myrmidon Monk clacks out while you waffle. “Or what? Is there some reason you don’t want to go?”

“Oh my!” your second cousin exclaims immediately, but forget about her. True, you have no special reason to turn Female Bishop down—and yet…

You’re assaulted by an anxiety you can’t find any reason for, and Half-Elf Scout cackles aloud. “This is what’s called checkmate, Captain. Be a good boy and go on a quest that doesn’t involve the dungeon.”

Grr. It sounds like that settles it. It’s true, of late you’ve been focusing on nothing but delving and training, delving and training. Cutting enemies down and moving forward. You’d been working on the assumption that otherwise you wouldn’t be able to resist the Death that squirms in the dungeon, but now…

Maybe that isn’t the same thing as Life.

On the far side of one is six. And how foolish it would be to roll a die focusing only on that single pip.

Of course, just entertaining these thoughts while you sip your porridge isn’t going to be enough to change how you really feel. The head and the heart are separate things. But they can be brought into alignment. If one acts to make them so.

All right. You nod and finish what’s left in your bowl in a single great gulp. You suddenly realize that everyone else has already finished eating. You’re well behind.

Well, time to go. Shopping. Not alone but together with Female Bishop.

“Okay!” she exclaims, her expression bright enough to blind you as she nods eagerly. The girls exchange little congratulatory high fives—you knew this was a setup. But strangely, you don’t mind. You like knowing those you’re close to are thinking of you, and it would be terrible to waste such affection.

You stop one of the passing padfoot waitresses—the harefolk girl—and ask for a cup of water.

“Coming right up! Hee-hee—I heard it all, you know. Everyone needs a break now and then!” She claps her fuzzy hands, and you smile wryly. Apparently, you’re just that easy to read.

But, well, it’s all right. It’s all good, you think again.

Just by deciding to take a rest, to take a break from your normal routine, you feel something like a trapped breath escaping your body. You nod, bring your hands together, and place the party’s shared purse on the table.

Let’s begin with what everyone wants, then.

“Come one, come all! See the dungeon’s strangest mystery—this living gold coin!”

“That’s outrageous. How can the identification cost the entire value of the item? That’s highway robbery!”

“Oh, please—this statue is of a bear who killed millions of enemies. It’ll bring you luck and profit for sure…”

“Now, now, this key is made of solid gold, you hear me? Surely you’ll give me a good price for it!”

You venture out into town, the fortress city packed to the gills with people. Shouting voices are everywhere, and you can hear adventurers arguing with merchants about their wares. In this city, there’s no end of new equipment to buy, nor of money to buy it with. To see this place, you would never imagine the end of the world was nigh.

You see a few people in tattered clothing whom you take to be refugees, but they look almost relaxed. Maybe it’s relief. Unlucky as they are, they’re still alive, and they know it. It’s hard not to feel that the good wind that blows through this town is somehow generous.

“I guess we can thank the Trade God for this,” Female Bishop says as she patters along beside you. She’s working hard to keep up but likewise looks almost relieved. “So many refugees, though… I guess the war isn’t going so well.” Perhaps it’s her sense of vocation that lends an extra touch of melancholy to these words. When you consider what she told you about her life back in the temple, you can hardly blame her for feeling this way.

The world needs saving. With that burden on your shoulders, one could be forgiven for lapsing into rueful rumination when confronted with the way things are. After walking alongside you silently for a moment, though, Female Bishop says, “Right,” nodding with conviction. “Our shopping today will bring us closer to that goal!” Then with an enthusiastic “Let’s go!” she rushes forward. Now it’s you who struggles to keep up with her—you smile at the idea.

How invigorating this is.

“Where should we go first?” Female Bishop asks gaily, turning toward you and fixing her gaze on you from behind her bandage. You’re not on any adventure now, and she’s in civilian clothing, without her weapons and armor; she looks truly alive. She could easily be mistaken, you think, for some young princess somewhere—and it’s not just because she was actually born to a noble house. Is this her true self, then? From before the goblins, even before her parents educated her in the ways of the nobility?

You suggest maybe you should start by taking a look around to see what’s available. The armor, weapons, and potions should all be easy enough to get from the weird old guy whose shop you already frequent. All the other little things, though, and the treats Female Warrior and your cousin want, are another matter. Might not be such a bad idea to take a look at the shops.

She is, after all, a bishop of the Supreme God. With her ability to identify items, you won’t get bilked on your purchases. You tell her you’ll be counting on her, and she happily responds, “Great!”

Now, wander around long enough and you’re bound to bump into something interesting. Among the many wares spread out in the street are several that catch your eye. A sword, for example—a classic-looking blade.

“Ah, my young lord and lady, I see you are people of discernment! Come see my collection of swords, masterworks unparalleled anywhere in the world!” The merchant, his voice heavy with some accent you don’t recognize, tries to convince you to have a gander. You suspect the ordinary clothing Female Bishop is wearing today has kept the man from realizing what she is. You glance in her direction, and she gives you a wicked little look from under her bandage. She nods, suppressing a laugh, and you squat in front of the swords as if deeply interested.

Hmm…indeed.

At a glance, it would be easy enough to take these for famous works of great craftsmen. They have the right look, and when you pull one out of its scabbard, the blade gleams brightly. It certainly puts on an impressive show…

“…Would you like me to look at it for you?” Female Bishop whispers, sounding almost excited.

You remark that yes, you would. The sword you picked up bears the name Dragon Slayer. Others have names like Were Slayer and Mage Masher, but you figure you might as well start with dragons. You just felled one, after all. If you’d had this blade along, maybe it would have been a little easier.

“This one? Let’s see…” Female Bishop touches the hilt with her slim fingers. She runs them up to the blade as if in a caress, an ambiguous smile on her face. You ask if it’s a fake. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s the real thing. However… How do I put this…?” She spares a glance for the merchant, her eyes hidden by her bandage, then leans in close to you. She stretches out ever so slightly, bringing her lips close to your ear, and whispers: “It has no desire to act.”

Hmm.

She giggles like a child at your response and continues softly: “It was created to fell flying beings. It won’t be of real value against earth dwellers.”

So there are many different types of swords that might be called dragon slayers. Think, for example, of Dragon Buster and Dragon Valor, known from the old songs and legends… The fact that so many dragon-slaying swords are understood to be just normal weapons when wielded against any other foe means there would be plenty of fakes. After all, how many people are likely to encounter a real dragon in their travels? Judged against such forgeries, at least this sword has the virtue of being the real thing. Even if it wouldn’t be of any special value down in the dungeon.

“If I were to pick one…,” Female Bishop murmurs. “Let’s see…” She moves among the wares with the grace of a dancer, her hand finally settling on one sword in particular. “Yes, this is the one I would pick.”

It is a most mysterious weapon composed of several blades joined together. The make looks somewhat old, and it has clearly seen its share of passing years.

“I knew you had a good eye. That’s the work of a very famous smith, sir. How about it?”

At the merchant’s urging, you take the sword in hand, recognizing its unusual lightness. With his permission, you give a few gentle swipes with the weapon, and even these mild strokes produce a whoosh of air. Yes—this is indeed good work. With a single swing, you could rend an enemy’s flesh, turning them to mincemeat. You are aware of only one shop in the city that would sell something like this. And since you’re not there right now, you wonder aloud if this came up from the dungeon.

“Heh-heh, I’ve had a big shipment in just recently. Couldn’t be happier.”

You look around and see it’s true; swords of all descriptions seem to be lying around. And not just swords. The cloth laid out on the ground also hosts staves, rings, and more besides.

You know a little magic. It isn’t lost on you that one of the staves lolling around nearby contains a powerful fire spell. Your cousin, of course, or even Female Bishop, with their magical abilities, might find such equipment a stalwart companion.

But… You’re suddenly overtaken by a strange sense that something isn’t right; you set the old sword down on the cloth. The feeling is hard to articulate, and it might be nothing more than your imagination. But you can’t shake it—it’s the same prickle you felt stepping into the chamber with those rogues.

“Satisfied for today, sir?”

You return the merchant’s pleasant smile, lightly patting the sword at your hip. You’d rather place your trust in a familiar weapon for now.

“I see, of course,” the merchant says with no obvious distress—probably used to sales slipping away.

The concern, however, is yours alone. If there’s anything Female Bishop wants, well, as party leader, it’s of course your job to help her equip herself. So you inquire her opinion.

“ ”

Female Bishop, however, shows no sign of hearing your question, her unseeing eyes fixed on a single point. You follow her gaze to find it resting on a shiny but otherwise unremarkable ring. Even you can tell the item must be expensive. Expensive enough to make you hesitate for a moment. But you’re the one who charged a dragon head-on—you won’t quail at buying an item, if it’s exceptional enough to be worth it.

“…No,” Female Bishop says, her voice quaking terribly. “No… It’s all right. I don’t—I don’t need it.” She shakes her head several times and then promptly walks away. You hurry after her. She looks out of sorts, but her footsteps are precise and careful, as an adventurer’s steps always should be.

When you catch up to her, you don’t even have to ask. She says, “That ring… It’s cursed.”

Cursed…

You mutter to yourself, and her shoulders shake again; she looks as distressed as a child who’s seen a monster. “I don’t know…how to describe it… It was cold, like I was being sucked in…”

Mm. You grunt. Perhaps it’s the same strange force you felt coming from that sword. It wasn’t simply frightening. It was something cold, chilling, that sneaked up on you. Something this fortress city is overflowing with. Something that accompanies almost every adventurer, almost every step they take.

You stop walking, looking back over your shoulder and peering into the busy marketplace. The shop, with the sword and the ring, has vanished amid the bustle.

And yet… Say… Could it be…?

Could that have been the chill of the Death?

“Oh…” Female Bishop, who’s been moving so quickly she almost seems to be running away from the marketplace, suddenly stops and looks up. This allows you to catch up with her and ask what’s going on, but she shakes her head and says, “Nothing. Ahem, it’s this way. I think…”

She turns and sets off down a side street with complete confidence despite her impaired vision. She’s running, yet nothing about her movements makes you worry that she’ll bump into anyone or fall. Once again you hurry to catch up with her, but at least she seems to be able to make her own way around.

Maybe she’s more of a tomboy than she looks.

The thought flits through your mind, not that it serves much purpose.

Think of her, back before the misfortune befell her, before she was brought up as a hero.

Even more meaningless, such speculations.

There’s no way to know what’s inborn and what comes from experience. Besides, the experience is part of what makes us who we are. Here’s what it works out to: She’s a bit of a tomboy.

“…I believe it’s this way,” Female Bishop says, stopping at a crossroads and tilting her head as if listening closely, then turning down the next street. You follow after her with no idea where she might be going. You ask, but she only says, “I don’t know.” Geez.

Wherever it is she doesn’t know she’s going, though, she soon arrives there. It doesn’t take long for you to realize what she’s been looking for.

A young girl. A child, ten years old or so, her hair in a braid—perhaps done by her parents or maybe her older sister. Her eyes are open wide and round, her mouth is drawn up in a line, and her hands are clasped together. It would be easy to point out that she’s trying to contain herself, yet somehow also embarrassing. Despite the child’s best efforts, a very slight whimper is escaping her…

‘You heard that?’

“Um, well… Yes,” Female Bishop replies shyly, hurrying over to the child as if to say she’s what’s most important right now. Female Bishop kneels down in front of the girl, heedless of the dust and grime that get on her white clothes, so she’s eye to eye with the child. “Whatever is the matter…?” she asks.

You find yourself simultaneously impressed, surprised, and even smiling at her in this moment. You get a rush of warm, fuzzy feeling.

But it doesn’t last long.

You walk over to a man who’s loitering nearby, shaking your head in an exaggerated motion and shrugging. This is pathetic. To think any adventurer would bully a little girl so badly as to bring her to tears.

“…I haven’t been bullying her.” The man turns to you, looking deeply distressed. It’s the Knight of Diamonds.

Standing next to him is a silver-haired girl—no, the silver-haired scout, not much taller than a child herself. Her expressions—indeed, perhaps her emotions—always seem slight, but it’s clear at a glance that she’s quite annoyed. You mention how Female Warrior would no doubt fall on the floor laughing if you told her about this exchange.

“Hrmph!” The silver-haired scout pouts. “Then I’ll make you an offer: I’ll tell you an embarrassing story about her instead.”

You nod and say you’ll accept the offer later, then ask the Knight of Diamonds what the problem is. The child looks a little more at ease with Female Bishop talking to her, and you decide Female Bishop is better suited to handling that part of things than you are.

“Ahh, see…,” the knight begins, “I thought she might be lost, so I tried talking to her and—”

“The very first words out of your mouth were, Don’t you dare cry!”

Sheesh.

You join the silver-haired scout in leveling a disappointed gaze at the Knight of Diamonds. How truly pathetic.

“No need to say it again. I doubt you know how to deal with children yourself,” he tells you. You’ve never seen the young knight look so much his age before. Still, you can’t ignore what he just said. Maybe he’s right; maybe he’s wrong. Even as you tease him with the words of a certain wizard, you think about what to do next…

That’s when Female Bishop speaks up. “Um… May I?”

You nod; she takes the child gently by the hand and guides her over to you. Well, now. You crouch on one knee so you can look the dark-haired girl in the eye. She seems quick and clever, and she’s obviously doing everything she can not to be afraid—a good girl.

“My big sis and I, we…we got separated,” she says haltingly. Hmm. You consider, then nod. This is a world-ending catastrophe in and of itself.

You conclude that you’ll have to find this sister of hers, then.

“Right!” Female Bishop replies as if she foresaw all of this, making you idly bashful. Thus, you stand without quite meeting her gaze, gently brushing the dirt off your knees.

“ ” The Knight of Diamonds and the silver-haired scout are looking at you incredulously. “Er, you see… I thought I had you figured out after that scuffle in the tavern,” the knight says, and then with a wave of his hand, he urges you to forgive him. “…It turns out getting to know a person is indeed difficult yet delightful.”

You laugh aloud. Ha—there’s a logic to all things, if you look hard enough…

You know the words to say at a moment like this.

Trust an adventurer to handle it.

“I see, so you and your older sister…”

“Uh-huh. We went shopping, but then I couldn’t find her anymore.”

That leaves you without many options. Female Bishop walks ahead of you, holding the girl’s hand and chatting amicably with her. Her footsteps still don’t falter despite her visual impairment; the smooth flagstones of the street are nothing compared to the difficult footing of the dungeon. Her steps are sure as she listens politely to the young girl’s chatter.

“I can’t believe this…” Holding the child’s other hand is the silver-haired scout. Maybe the little girl thinks the scout is about her own age, because she treats her differently from Female Bishop, though she clearly likes them both. As the girl talks, holding their hands, they reply “Oh” or “Hmm” or “Huh!” as appropriate. Then they whisper something back to her—and you see that though they may not be used to it, they’re surprisingly good at this childcare thing.

However…

With them there, you’re not sure what’s left for you to do. Finding things is a scout’s business, and Female Bishop seems ideally suited to keeping the child company. At least you look like you’re feeling more at ease than the Knight of Diamonds, who walks alongside you. Well, you’ve experienced the known depths of the dungeon, and compared to that, finding someone on the streets is an absolute pleasure. Isn’t it wonderful to help someone, to see the fruits of your labors, to know there’s a future?

“Sounds like hardly anything bothers you… Or at least, nothing serious.”

I was wondering what he might say next…

You laugh out loud. You never imagined having such insight. Indeed, it wasn’t that long ago when you didn’t think very highly of yourself.

It’s because of your party. You tell the Knight of Diamonds that they helped you gain something difficult to come by.

“I see,” he says quietly in response, the tone of his voice like a man observing a stunning treasure. “And here I thought you might be concerned about the progress of your exploration.”

You reply immediately that, in fact, that is bothering you. Could the dungeon really go down only four levels? Is there nothing further? If there isn’t, then is there really nothing else to do besides kill and loot for as long as one can survive?

The Knight of Diamonds looks for a moment like he doesn’t have an answer, then he grunts. “Mm. We’re continuing our search, as well… It’s undeniable that there’s a lot more white space on the map than there was on other floors.”

You start to nod: That makes sense. You already know that the dungeon isn’t a square—or perhaps you should say a rectangular solid. After all, you already know that the coordinates for the stairway down from the first floor are different on the first floor than they are when you arrive on the second. You don’t know if it has something to do with the dungeon’s physical construction, or if some magical distortion of dimensions is involved, but it doesn’t matter.

You know, she was the one who noticed that. You glance in Female Bishop’s direction. She’s smiling and chatting with the little girl, making sure the child doesn’t fall—you think you’re seeing the real her. You can only imagine how much of a burden she must have been bearing to have shrunk into herself the way she had when you first saw her at the tavern.

Perhaps… Perhaps there might be some clue on one of the other floors, you muse.

“Certainly possible. Maybe it’s time to start from the proverbial square one again…”

But there’s no time. The Knight of Diamonds doesn’t have to say it for you to understand.

The fortress city burbles with an unusual liveliness, a hustle and bustle. The energy of adventurers, merchants, and refugees who arrive with an eye on the endless loot that wells up from the dungeon. This is the very cusp of the danger that threatens the entire world, yet it draws each of them near.

It’s entirely possible that tomorrow, yes, even tomorrow, the Death will crawl forth out of the dungeon and destroy the world. But no one seems to pay the chance any mind. Maybe they’re just pretending not to see it, or maybe they really don’t care. The whole place is like a pile of guttering ashes, giving off a faint glow.

Or, you suppose, maybe there really is no Death down in the dungeon.

“And we’re on a complete wild-goose chase, utterly off the mark, looking for something that doesn’t exist in a place that produces endless treasure?” The Knight of Diamonds laughs aloud. “I guess it’s a little late to worry about that.”

You laugh, too. Female Bishop and the silver-haired girl look over at you, but you wave to them, indicating it’s nothing.

If you truly have another mission to accomplish, then this right now is sheer idleness.

‘Still, it’s impressive you talked to her instead of abandoning her.’

“What do you mean?”

You respond that you mean the girl, nodding in the direction of the dark-haired child. The knight might not have been exactly sure how to handle the situation, but he did what you would expect from Lawful Good.

The Knight of Diamonds goes silent for a moment, makes a face, and finally musters an awkward, “Hardly…” You glance at him but don’t have anything in particular to say, so you wait for him to go on. “I myself have a younger…a younger sister,” he says. That, he concludes with a note of self-deprecation, is why he couldn’t ignore the girl.

He’s looking at Female Bishop talking to the child, but he seems to be looking past them, through them, to someone else beyond.

“You believe one of every pair of twins is cursed?”

You think for a second, then reply that you doubt it. You think it’s nothing more than a superstition. A misguided response to an extreme roll of the dice.

“My father didn’t agree,” the Knight of Diamonds spits. “There’s no going back, for her.”

Seeing the way he stares fixedly at the silver-haired scout, you only offer a quiet word of acknowledgment. Sometimes you simply have to let someone go.

You don’t think there’s anything more for you to say. Judging another person’s emotions is so immensely difficult. The more so when the person who’s cut loose is a family member. Any number of things might drive someone to recognize that “this is as far as we go.” Even this self-proclaimed third son of a poor noble house has a past, and indeed, has a present. As one who knows nothing of them, you should simply accept everything you’re told at face value.

“Oh…!” Suddenly the little girl’s face begins to shine, and she rushes forward at a quick trot. Female Bishop tries to clamber after her and take her hand at the same time, but only succeeds in confusing herself and coming to a halt.

“Hmm,” the silver-haired scout mumbles quietly, and you follow her gaze.

“There you are…! Oh my gods… I told you not to go wandering off on your own!” calls a clear voice, overpowering the little girl’s “I’m sorry!”

You recognize this new girl. You’ve heard her voice before. She looks familiar, but you can’t quite place her. She must be the little one’s older sister.

When she turns toward you, flicking her long hair back, you suddenly realize. The fairly generous chest is contained in civilian clothing, so it took you a moment. At the same time, the royal guard—the one who’s always standing outside the dungeon entrance—recognizes you, too.

“Hey,” she calls out. You and Female Bishop smile, while the Knight of Diamonds and the silver-haired scout both pull faces for some reason.

“Ah-ahem. Thank you, um, I’m sorry for any trouble my sister might have caused you…”

“Think nothing of it,” the Knight of Diamonds replies with a disgustingly suave wave of the hand. “Any adventurer would have done the same.”

You can only smirk to hear him mimic you, but your uneasy expression matches that on the royal guard’s face. The two of you smile slowly at each other, and she seems to relax. “Again, I’m sorry for the trouble. Come on, say thank you.”

“Thanks…very much!” the girl says politely, with an exaggerated bow. You tell her not to worry about it, then say you didn’t realize the girl was the guard’s little sister.

The royal guard chuckles. “Surprised?” she asks with a mischievous wink. “Even I’m off the clock sometimes.”

So she is indeed. The fact that she’s literally face-to-face (you suspect) with the threat to this world’s very existence doesn’t change that. What’s world peace worth if you have no time to spend with your family?

The guard and her sister bow to you all once more, then walk off hand in hand. You watch until they vanish into the crowd.

“…Well, I’m glad,” Female Bishop says, after a short breath of relief. “I’m glad she wasn’t afraid.”

Hmm. You don’t take her meaning immediately, and Female Bishop looks at you awkwardly. “I mean… You know, because of my…scars.” She offers her best smile and a tilt of the head. She looks almost sweet.

You tell her not to be silly, following up with a laugh. Who cares what random people think? It doesn’t matter how pretty your face is; if you have so much as a scratch, some people will point and jabber. It’s practically a hobby for them, and paying them too much mind will drive you out of yours.

“I wonder… Oh, which is to say, I’m certainly happy to hear you say so…” Still, the words don’t seem to have been much comfort to Female Bishop.

You wonder what the problem is, but as someone who isn’t very caught up in his own appearance, there’s not much you can offer. Female Bishop looks somewhat fragile but beautiful; her body isn’t voluptuous but has curves and is otherwise fit—you’ve never noticed much more about it than that. This is definitely more a subject for Female Warrior, or (though you hate to admit it) your cousin. You suspect you might make things worse instead of better.

“Hmm…” The silver-haired scout is watching and listening to the two of you, and then she pulls on the knight’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s go. Aren’t you going to buy that sword you saw at that shop?”

He nods seriously. “Ah, yes, unmistakably a fine blade. It’s not my kind of thing, but it would certainly give our party more prowess in battle.” Now that you think about it, did his party have any other warriors?

You tell him to hurry and find the fifth floor. You’ll never be able to stop looking, otherwise.

The Knight of Diamonds graces you with an earnest laugh. “Fair enough. Nothing will change if you rot down there.”

Same to him. You nod, and he nods back.

You all look one last time into the crowd of people, the denizens of the fortress city among whom the sisters have vanished. Merchants, adventurers, and refugees are each seeking their daily bread and their own entertainments.

The wind comes blowing by in a rush. A good wind, sent by the Trade God.

“I know one thing: We have to save this world.”

You say nothing.

The Knight of Diamonds has already said it all.

“…Perhaps if I were a bit bigger. I don’t think of myself as that small, but…”

You never know what she’s going to say next: This time it’s about body type. The firm muscles revealed by the royal guard’s civilian clothing showed a build well suited to wearing armor and swinging a sword. Considering how even Myrmidon Monk sometimes stands on the front row, Female Bishop seems to be taking the matter to heart. Especially now that she talks more with Female Warrior.

Your master always insisted that body type had little or nothing to do with anything…but you think you’ll just get yourself in trouble if you say that. You tell Female Bishop she should ask the others when you get back to the inn tonight.

“Yes. I’ll do that.” She nods eagerly, flailing her arms as if waving an invisible staff.

Yeesh. Female Bishop doesn’t notice you trying to suppress a smile. Her footsteps are light. In fact, the same is true of yours—and your shoulders, which are feeling far less burdened than they were before you went out. Maybe you should thank her—though you feel expressing formal gratitude would be not quite appropriate.

You picture the faces of your party members, waiting for you at the tavern, and your face relaxes into a smile. Challenge, fight, carve a path. The very same things you’ve been doing all along. So you’re not as sure where you’re going to go next—that’s not something to panic about.

Acting like an amateur…

As twilight settles upon the fortress city, you and Female Bishop stroll down the street. The two of you exchange idle chatter, talk about the day’s shopping, and about the lost little girl you helped. It seems to have dissipated the lethargy you’ve been feeling in your body.

That’s all it really takes, in the end. Your friend asking you to go shopping. A little girl who needs your help. Small things that give you a feeling of accomplishment like tiny adventures, things that help you move forward the slightest bit.

It’s about time. The answer comes to you suddenly, and you announce it with insufferable pride: If the source of all this evil isn’t down in that dungeon, then you’ll just keep adventuring until you find it. If it’s all over with the fourth floor, then fine. You’ll forge ahead to the next thing. It’s as simple as that. More fool this villain is, if they think they can run away from you and your party.

“Goodness…” Female Bishop, swept away by your grand declaration, puts a hand to her mouth and laughs. The sound is clear as a bell and echoes deep into your heart. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Then until we find the source of the Death, I—”

Female Bishop smiles, but you never find out what she was going to say.

“ !”

For suddenly, someone calls her name.

“Oh…” Female Bishop stops, taken aback by the friendly exclamation. She looks as if she’s seen a ghost. You turn to discover another girl who’s the spitting image of Female Bishop. Vestments and all. But her body has the fullness that Female Bishop’s lacks, and her face is as alluring as a blooming flower. Above all, there’s light in her eyes. She shines like a star that has never known pain or suffering.

“Ahem, ah…” Female Bishop’s voice grows scratchy and shrill, like a child who fears she’ll be scolded no matter what she says. “So you’re all right… Thank goodness…,” she finally manages, with real feeling.

“Ha-ha-ha, of course I’m all right! Would I ever get lost?” The other girl, in contrast, laughs loudly and produces a map from her pouch with a flourish. She unrolls it to reveal a diagram that’s noticeably detailed and easy to read. Perhaps not as excellent as Myrmidon Monk’s work, but then, he’s the best mapper you know.

She’s in his league, though. Yes, that much is true.

The girl waves the map around, causing the ring on her finger to glint brightly, then quickly rolls it up again and puts it away. “How about you? Not getting lost around town, are you? I’m sure you’re working hard to remember all the streets.”

“Y-yes. I’m managing…”

“I know how easily you get lost in new places,” the girl goes on without losing momentum, as if she hasn’t even heard Female Bishop’s hesitant response. “I always had to trail you everywhere you went.”

You suppose you’re grateful the girl doesn’t seem to have noticed you; you study her carriage and behavior closely. The generous interpretation might be that she doesn’t try to hide who she is; the less generous, that she has no filter.

She seems to genuinely care for Female Bishop, as far as you can tell. After all, otherwise, why would she follow her around to make sure she didn’t get lost? It’s easy enough to misjudge this girl—although that might be a misjudgment in and of itself. It’s difficult indeed to read people on your first meeting.

“Hey, the guy next to you—is he from your party? …Nah, couldn’t be. We told you to wait at the tavern.” The girl rolls on with her own conclusions before you can get a word in edgewise. She turns with an almost poetic motion and calls to someone behind her: “Heeey!”

You seize the opportunity to take stock of Female Bishop, who’s looking at the ground, obviously deeply uncomfortable. You don’t know what happened between her and these people, but all her cheerfulness has vanished in an instant. Maybe she would have been better off staying by herself at the tavern, doing identifications?

Hmm. Just that small acceleration of breath causes Female Bishop to quake as if pierced by a thorn. You produce a wry smile and tell her she doesn’t owe these people anything. That alone won’t be enough to comfort her, of course, but it does get a nod from her.

A moment later, someone appears before you—no, before Female Bishop. A young warrior with an easygoing manner. “Oh! Thank the gods! We were just heading to the tavern!” From the scratches on his armor and equipment, you can tell he’s no novice but an accomplished adventurer. A sword hangs at his hip in a red-lacquered scabbard, which he grips with a hand bearing a ring. He wears a tightly bound metal forehead protector, and his expression is one of relief; he doesn’t try to hide that he’s out of breath. “We were coming to get you! Come on—let’s go adventuring!”

He smiles broadly as he speaks.

“Wow, talk about self-important.”

“Hey, we did kinda poach her. Fair enough.”

“As your older sister, I think I object to your attitude…!”

“Well, you can be that way sometimes.” Giggle. “But we knew that already.”

“So what did you do?” Clack, clack. “Not that I care either way.”

Female Bishop stands stunned by the young warrior’s words.

Don’t blame her. Adventurers from this fortress city disappear all the time down in that awful dungeon. Parties are lost, in other words. They hit trouble down in the depths, and though sometimes they can make camp and hope for help to arrive, there are limits. Female Bishop may have hoped they were still alive, but she would have known it was past time to give up, realistically speaking. Even if they were alive, there was every reason to think they had simply left her behind.

If she’s hardly able to keep up with this sudden development, well, it’s only natural.

“Look, you… I mean…” The warrior stops, finding the words, carefully adopting a cheerful tone. “Training takes time, you know? We wanted to be sure we would be strong enough to protect you.”

“What…? I…I had no idea…” Female Bishop’s voice is still vanishingly quiet. Her hand grips at her chest. The symbol of the Supreme God whom she serves floats there, and she looks like she’s supplicating to it.

You wait silently for her to come up with the words. The young warrior likewise doesn’t interrupt.

“…Why did you never come to see me?” Female Bishop asks finally, her voice quaking audibly.

A good question—that was foremost in your mind as well.

The other girls might know about Female Bishop’s past, but you don’t—not in any detail, at least. You don’t think it’s the business of an outsider to aggravate that goblin-inflicted wound. Thus, perhaps it was consideration on the part of the young warrior to leave her at the tavern and go on ahead. Did he never imagine how she would be treated, left behind to earn her keep by identifying items? You don’t think this qualifies as watching over somebody.

“We thought if you were at the tavern…you’d be safe…” This response comes from the priest, the one who looks just like Female Bishop—it sounds like an excuse, and she can’t look at you as she speaks. At her neck is a sigil of the sword and scales, hanging from a blue sash. She serves the Supreme God, too.

It’s often said that once humans had taken over the scales of the law, the judgment of good and evil belonged to them, not the gods. She probably also thought this would be for Female Bishop’s benefit, after much agonizing.

“I know it was for training, but we had to do so much killing—we didn’t want to…”

“We didn’t want to see you until our penance was done… We thought that would be best,” the warrior adds. “We’re really sorry.” He bows his head deeply.

Neither the priest with her boundless enthusiasm, nor the warrior with his willingness to speak so frankly to Female Bishop, has a shadow on their face. It’s not yours to judge the actions of others. But you do register how direct they are. Though you don’t know if that’s good or bad.

“B-but that’s… B-but I…!”

Even Female Bishop herself doesn’t know what to say. You don’t blame her for that, either.

And yet, what could you personally say to these people you’ve only just met this very moment? You’ve been listening silently until now, but even with this thought, you decide it would be all right to put in a few words here. After all, this concerns you, as well. Whether you like it or not, you have the right to speak.

You’re perfectly happy to wait for Female Bishop to talk first, of course.

After a moment’s thought…

‘You should do what you like.’

Short, to the point.

“What…?” Female Bishop looks at you with all the shock of a child who’s been slapped by her parents. Needless to say, as the leader of your party, it’s not that you have no compunctions about her leaving. But that’s not for you to say now, to push it on Female Bishop when she hasn’t even asked.

Yes, you are your party’s leader. You are definitively not Female Bishop’s guardian, nor do you speak for her. Thus, you must respect her free choice. It’s her life and her decision. So you repeat: She should do what she likes.

‘And whatever decision it is, don’t worry about it afterward.’

Because you are the leader of your party, you are her friend and companion.

“Do what…what I like…” Female Bishop looks at the ground, her shoulders slumped weakly. Silence reigns between you for a long time.

“—” The young warrior opens his mouth to say something, but the priest jabs him with an elbow, and he closes his mouth again with a grunt. The priest plays with the blue sash at her neck and sniffs quietly, waiting for her friend’s reply. You pull your conical hat down farther over your eyes to hide the fact that you’re trying to hold back a smile.

“Um…” After a long time, the single syllable starts a flood of others. “Did I—was I ever able to…to be of help to you?” Female Bishop asks, her voice trembling.

Your answer is immediate. Yes.

Of course she was. You never once questioned it.

Magic, miracles, mapping, item identification, today’s shopping trip, talking things over with the rest of the party. Any one of them was already a major, important contribution. You wouldn’t want anyone else on your back row.

“I…I see…!” Female Bishop wipes at the corners of her eyes behind her bandage. She opens her trembling lips and takes a deep breath, filling her small chest with air. And finally she says, in a single clear utterance: “I’m sorry. I’m going to stay with this group.”

And then with her face clear as the blue sky, she stands beside you.

The priest, Female Bishop’s double, is the first to respond: “Whaaat?! You’re kidding—I can’t believe this!” Her tone is aggressive, but she appears more shocked than anything. You think somewhat flippantly how easily her motivation might be mistaken.

“Forgive me,” Female Bishop says. “But I want…I want to try getting by on my own strength.”

“Really? Are you sure about that? Are you sure about him?”

Easy to misjudge, indeed, you think, the thought coming back to you like a boomerang. The girl, needless to say, is staring daggers at you. In her eyes, you’re probably some con man who found her poor, naive friend at the tavern and talked her into joining your party. You know you can’t shoot back anything rude, so you just pull your hat over your eyes again.

“…Come on, that’s enough,” says the young man with the lacquered sword. He probably doesn’t realize he’s standing up for you.

“But…” The priest purses her lips but can’t seem to find a leg to stand on despite her desperate wish to object further.

“You’ve only just met him. At least be polite.”

“Yeah, you’re right…” She shuffles back, nodding, and the warrior turns toward Female Bishop. His expression is hard. But not from anxiety or anger; rather, he doesn’t seem quite certain what expression is appropriate. After a moment, he settles on a gentle smile. “Very well, that sounds good. You work hard…and we’ll be rooting for you. Just don’t forget that we’re your friends—if you ever need anything, ask us.”

“I will! Thank you…very much!” Female Bishop, clasping the sword and scales to her chest, nods. She has all the enthusiasm of a small bird or a puppy, and the warrior smiles, then looks to you. “Er…I take it you’re in her party? You’ll have to excuse my companion there.”

You smile and wave it away. She spoke from her heart, and there’s nothing to rebuke in that. Indeed, you feel you ought to be the one apologizing for effectively stealing a very capable bishop from them.

“She is an excellent bishop, isn’t she?” the young man says, beaming proudly. “Be good to her. She’s a dear friend of mine.”

“If you let anyone put so much as a scratch on her, you’ll pay!!” the priest adds hotly.

You nod: of course. They hardly need to say it. The dungeon is a dangerous place, and you can’t make any guarantees, but if it’s remotely within your power, she will stay safe.

At the same time, you feel utterly relieved. You tried to say the best thing you could think of, but you don’t know what you would have done if she’d actually decided to leave your party. You’re grateful that she chose to stay, and that you can go on exploring without regrets.

You weren’t sure how it was going to go for a second there, but now it’s finally settled…

“No! No! I won’t allow it!!!!”

Apparently, it’s not so settled after all.

“I won’t let you run off to some other party!!”

Red-faced and shouting is a girl about the same age as Female Bishop and the others. Judging by her equipment, which you evaluate as she comes rushing up, she’s probably a scout. She’s human, but her movements are nearly as efficient as your own Half-Elf Scout’s. Maybe she comes from the eastern desert. Her clothing and tanned skin look vaguely familiar to you. She’s of slim build, her chest slight, her leather armor not thick at all. And she, too, wears a ring.

“Er, I’m sorry, I—”

“No! We’re supposed to be friends!” Her sheer passion is part of the problem. If the priest earlier was too blunt, leading to easy misinterpretation, well, there’s no mistaking this young woman. She looks in your direction with a disgust you would normally expect to be reserved for rogues in the dungeon. It’s like having a weapon pointed at you: It’s not for talking; it’s for stabbing.

You can only groan. Since this young woman used to be Female Bishop’s friend, and a companion of this warrior-priest, you can’t imagine she’s a bad person. She probably means well…but you still have a decision to make.

“Please, stop. Getting emotional will only make things harder for everyone.”

The cold, rational words seem to speak for you. You look and see a black-haired youth, seemingly another warrior, appear following the sand-bandit girl. Perhaps another former—yes, former—member of Female Bishop’s party.

From beside you, Female Bishop speaks the black-haired warrior’s name in a small voice.

“But…,” the sand-bandit girl protests. “But she… But I…!”

“What are we supposed to do with you yelling and shouting?” The black-haired youth sounds like he’s trying to talk the sand-bandit girl around now, and on his hand, too, a ring shines. His attitude is outwardly conciliatory, but you can see in his eyes that he isn’t sure about you, either.

You can’t help a wry smile. You’re honestly happy to know they care so much about Female Bishop, but you think it might kill you to have to explain as much. Not that you would regret it, here and now. You didn’t and won’t interfere with Female Bishop’s decision, but once she’s made her choice, it’s your duty as party leader to support her in it.

However… You observe the other party carefully. The young warrior with the lacquered sword, the priest girl who looks just like Female Bishop, the sand-bandit girl, and the other warrior, with dark hair. In terms of its makeup, this party doesn’t seem entirely suited to delving the dungeon. Certainly, it’s not always possible to get exactly the adventurers one would like in one’s group, but still…

“Now, now, we can’t go saying such things…” As if in answer to your question, there’s another voice, like a flickering shadow.

The last party member.

That makes five—now you see it; they do have an entire complement.

“ …” Female Bishop turns her bandage-clad eyes toward the voice. This last adventurer is dressed in a manner most unusual. The voice sounded like a shadow to you, and indeed, the adventurer looks like one. It’s a man dressed all in black. If you had been asked to describe him, that would have summed up your entire observations. He wears a black conical hat, and his entire body is hidden by a full-length black cloak. Glimpses of pale skin are visible in a few places, while his eyes burn like will-o’-the-wisps. But for all that, his voice is impossibly mild, like a breeze blowing through the grass in the dark of night.

Indeed, he is like a shadow. But he has more…force than just that.

“Teacher!” the sand-bandit girl exclaims. “Say something to her, Teacher! She’s being so selfish!”

You smile. Selfish—so that’s what it’s come to. Female Bishop, meanwhile, says, “Teacher…” in a voice tinged with wonder. “Who is that? Who…are you?”

“Oh, yeah. You haven’t met yet,” says the young warrior with the lacquered scabbard. His face softens into a smile, and he spreads his arms as if introducing someone he respects deeply—or rather, not as if; he does seem to respect this person. “Let me introduce you to the man who taught us to train ourselves—a wizard and our teacher.”

“A pleasure…” So saying, Teacher—that is, the man with the black hat—brings his hands together in a gesture of greeting and gives a languid dip of his head.

You bring your own hands together and bow back to him, and you each give your names. Proper introductions are important.

But…a wizard? A wizard…? He certainly doesn’t seem like any wizard you’ve ever met—he comes across as rather more intimidating. Nonetheless…

Very capable.

His footsteps, the movements of his eyes, even the slight twitches of his hands and fingers—every motion he makes is utterly efficient. He has no blind spots; no matter where he was attacked from, or when, he would react. It’s clear he’s a high-level adventurer. How long, you wonder, would one have to spend down in the dungeon, fighting and winning, to achieve this sort of level?

You can tell at a glance that he’s in a place you can hardly imagine.

“Intimidating, hmm? Intimidating…” The way he strokes his chin as he speaks, he might as well be talking about the weather. He hardly seems to take any real notice of you. No—that’s not true. Just like you, he’s taken stock of his opponent—and determined they’re of no consequence. “We could settle this here…but I think it would only lead to greater strife.”

Agreed. You reply as carefully and guardedly as you can without arousing suspicion. Female Bishop has made her choice clear, but it seems not all members of her party are prepared to accept it. It’s very rare to run into another group down in the dungeon, but to go adventuring with a grudge hanging over your heads would be unsettling. Though you aren’t so uncouth as to worry that the other group might set an ambush for you in the dark or any such thing.

For one thing, both of you would regret your attitudes, and that would blunt your movements. To have any personal distractions while in the dungeon is practically to invite the Death upon you.

“So what do you say? Shall we have a little contest, here and now?”

Contest…? Your hand is instantly on your sword, and you’re settling into a fighting stance. A single exchange, right here. Unless he means something else?

You don’t have to look over at Female Bishop to know that she’s clasping the sword and scales, no doubt with reluctance. She’s a combat-tested adventurer now. As are you, you hope.

“Oh, I wasn’t imagining anything so violent,” the man in the black hat says. “Well… Perhaps a little violent.” He gives a diffident wave of his hand and smiles, showing his teeth. “We’ve just been exploring the fourth floor lately. I presume you have, too?”

Mm. You nod.

“How about we see who finds the way to the fifth floor first?”

The fifth floor…?

You’re not sure what to say—you don’t mean to refuse, but admittedly the wager is perplexing. You had been wondering only shortly before whether such a thing even exists. Yet, this man before you sounds completely confident that it does.

“No objections here!” exclaims the sand-bandit girl. “We’ll prove to you that our party is superior!”

“I d-don’t think there’s any…particular problem,” Female Bishop says slowly but with conviction, shaking her head. “It’s just…ahem. This party… I decided…”

“It’s true, Teacher. She said she would join them, I heard her. I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” says the priest girl hesitantly—although she doesn’t sound pleased about it.

“That’s how she feels,” the man in the black hat says coolly, casually. It occurs to you that it’s the aloof tone wizards so often take. Perhaps the man realizes it, too, for he smiles. “But how you all feel…that matters to me.”

“I…I want—! I want…” There’s a creaking sound. You see the young warrior has again grabbed the scabbard at his hip with the hand bearing his ring. Perhaps the scabbard cried out when he gripped it too hard—or perhaps it was the sword within. “I want a contest…!” He stares straight at you, the words squeezing out of him. “I want to…know if I can trust…my friend…to you…!”

 ? A strange doubt seizes you, and you take a half step back. The look on the face of the young man challenging you is the precise opposite of the calm reserve he showed earlier. Maybe that can happen with human emotions sometimes, but…

“Ah, youth, so passionate!” The man in the black hat chuckles as if those few words explain everything. “Perhaps it’s best we settle this? Strife between adventurers is exactly what the master of that dungeon wants, after all.”

The man still wears the same indulgent smile. He’s right; what he says is true. And yet… Shouldn’t Female Bishop’s own desire be respected? You try raising the objection.

“Surely you aren’t telling me you’re not confident in yourself?”

You shake your head. No, that’s not what you’re saying. But now you can no longer back down. The anxiety that assaulted you until a moment before seems like a distant memory now. Whatever the obstacles, whatever the barriers, you will break through them and prevail. The details don’t matter to you. If any would laugh, let them.

“Just a little competition. Nothing more.” When he sees your resolve, the man in the black hat places a heavy, cold hand on your shoulder. The sort of easy, intimate gesture one would share with an old friend. “Win or lose, nothing in particular will happen. Now, shall we go?”

“Yes, Teacher…!” the young warrior and his party say, with the alacrity of disciples responding to their master. Then they follow the man in the black hat.

You stare after them until they’re out of sight, and then you place a hand on the shoulder the man touched.

“Um… Are you okay?” The concerned voice comes from just slightly below that shoulder. You exhale, nod at Female Bishop, and then answer aloud. Your entire body is soaked in an unpleasant sweat, your clothing clinging to you. You’ve encountered someone profoundly uncanny. A powerful opponent indeed…one to be wary of.

The young man with the lacquered sword—and the wizard in the black hat. You clench your fist as you follow them into the hubbub of the town.

No choice but to accept this challenge.

“Listen…I’m sorry. It’s my fault things turned out this way…” Female Bishop looks at you pitifully, her voice smaller than a flea. She bows her head, shrinks into herself, and looks, to your eyes, just as she did when you found her in the tavern. How much must this gentle girl’s heart be hurting? Even you can easily imagine.

You smile, say there’s no reason to worry so much. Tell her that you’re the one who should apologize. You set out with the intent to respect her volition but ended up accepting this silly challenge.

“But… That was…”

Your response is prompt and firm: It’s nothing—you were going to keep exploring the dungeon anyway.

“……Right.” She smiles, maybe in part for your benefit. It’s a gossamer expression, as if it might vanish into the twilight.

That’s right: Things won’t be any different from before. You’ll get through that dungeon. You’ll cut down the monsters. You and your friends will battle the Death. Nothing different. Though now you must succeed for Female Bishop’s sake as well… But in the end, that’s exactly what you were doing anyway.

At that point, you suddenly have a thought, and you laugh out loud, practically cackling.

“ …?” Female Bishop looks at you, startled, but you wave a hand; it’s nothing. Nothing important. Hardly needs to be said. In fact, you should be used to this. After all, this is the second time you’ve almost drawn your blade against another adventurer in Female Bishop’s defense. You think you were a lot calmer this time than that day in the tavern, if you do say so yourself.

So you know it’s true, then. You are indeed making progress…

It’s the next day. On the way to the dungeon, you tell everyone about what happened the day before.

“…Huh, quite a story,” Female Warrior murmurs, licking her lips innocently. “So that’s why you were so late getting back…”

When you finally returned to the tavern after everything that happened, you and Female Bishop were both too tired to explain. Though you suspected that unlike the men, who slept in the stables, the girls in their more comfortable accommodations might hear some bits of the tale.

“And here I thought for sure you were just having a nice little walk together!”

You ignore your second cousin.

Perhaps your choice was a bit hasty, you wonder aloud.

“Eh, seems to’ve got you back on your game, Cap, so it’s all good,” Half-Elf Scout says, making sure he’s speaking loud enough for Female Bishop, still worried about the situation, to hear him. “We were gonna look for the next level of that dungeon, anyway, so what’s the difference?”

“If we haven’t attained the proper strength, though, it could mean death for us. And anyway, we don’t even know for sure that there is a fifth floor.” Clack. Myrmidon Monk is curt, as usual. He isn’t wrong, either. But strangely enough, no one in the party seems to doubt the existence of another level. “Personally, I don’t care either way,” Myrmidon Monk adds.

“Your older sister wants her little brother to learn to be nice to a girl now and then,” your second cousin says. You don’t even think that’s the point at issue.

“I don’t know; I don’t think it would make him any less troublesome.” Argh. Now even Female Warrior is piling on. You sigh dramatically, your eyes settling on Female Bishop.

“Hee-hee…” The characteristic banter has brought a slight smile to her face. To your surprise, she doesn’t look depressed at all. Maybe the girls did have some salubrious chat in the simple accommodations the night before.

It seems neither Half-Elf Scout nor Myrmidon Monk has any objection to this dungeon exploration contest, either. You find yourself giving thanks to the Trade God for the blessing of fine companions.

Gotta make a donation at the temple when we come back from exploring.

“This wizard, though… He bothers me. From what you say, he sounds pretty high level. What’s your take?” Myrmidon Monk says.

“How should I know?” Female Warrior replies with a shake of the head. “I don’t hear much talk about wizards. Never thought I’d have to look for another one.”

You grunt: Mm. It’s odd that your two companions, both of whom have been adventurers longer than you, have never heard of this man. Even considering how many adventurers come and go in the fortress city every day, a wizard who helped other people get more powerful would normally attract attention.

“Were you able to scare anything up about them?” your cousin asks Half-Elf Scout.

“Hrm,” he says, folding his arms. “I tried asking around between adventures, but they’re just another party. And if they were training, they’d be down in the dungeon most of the time anyway, right?”

You nod. At least, if you take them at their word, they would be.

“Long story short, not a trace of ’em. Even though there ain’t that many parties able to get down to the fourth floor…”

You nod again. By no means do you suspect Half-Elf Scout of having overlooked anything. But the matter does nag at you. Yes, they had a high-level adventurer accompanying them, but you’re still surprised that they’ve progressed as far as you have. Unlike most of those who come to the fortress city, you and your party haven’t focused on making money but have single-mindedly dedicated yourselves to exploring the dungeon. That’s why you’re veritably able to keep up with the Knight of Diamonds and his party, even if they may be slightly ahead of you. And you can’t imagine there’s any place so deep in the dungeon that’s suited for basic training…

“Well, we won’t learn anything new just by thinking about it,” your cousin says, sweeping away your doubts. “We need to keep exploring, just like we always do!”

“You said it, Sis! Same job as always!”

Mm.

You nod firmly, then look up at the entrance to the dungeon looming before you. You check the fasteners on your sword, then make sure your equipment is secure. Your other party members do likewise, and then you double-check everything for them, as is your duty as leader. You need to know everyone’s situation, check everything over, and finally have someone check you: That will put everyone’s minds at ease.

“Oh… What about medicines and such?” Female Bishop asks, pulling a potion from her pack, but Female Warrior makes a face. “I’m always afraid those are going to break.”

Yes, maybe it would be best not to entrust them to the front row. But then, considering the possibility—may it never come—that your clerics may have to move up a row…

“That leaves me!” your cousin says, raising her hand and grinning. Yes, yes it does.

She takes the bottles from Female Bishop and hugs them to her chest as if she’s going to bury them there. “Just leave everything to your older sister!”

Well, if your second cousin is so eager, at least it means she won’t be as nervous.

Right—time to head down.

When the royal guard at the dungeon entrance sees you, she gives an elaborate bow. “Thank you for yesterday.”

She’s referring to the little girl—her sister. You reply that it was nothing, but she tells you it was quite a lot. “Make sure you come home, now. I don’t want to have to tell the kid what happened if you don’t come back.”

You laugh, your footsteps light as you venture into that abyss where only the wire frame is to be seen. Beside you, Female Warrior giggles with a sound like a bell. “Same job as always…”

Very much so.

Whatever you’ve been challenged to, and whoever challenged you to it, in the end, what you have to do hasn’t changed.

First floor, second, third.

Avoiding the dark zone, slipping through the rogues’ den, braving the hallways full of traps…

You’ve been this way many times before, and now you travel it with a minimum of danger.

This dungeon that has buried so many adventurers, with all its monsters and trials, is now merely a place you pass through. The monsters you have to deal with aren’t terribly threatening, so long as you’re careful as you enter each chamber. Soon you’re descending the rope ladder, rung by rung, carefully, down onto the fourth floor.

“Now, what do we do today…?” Female Bishop asks, and you hear her unrolling the map.

After a second, you respond. Maybe you should start with a quick tour of the level. There might be hidden doors you’ve missed. You need to have a look around.

“So I just take a little look-see at the walls and whatever?”

“What? Ugh, that sounds so boring…”

The responses from your two vanguards are quite distinct. You’re used to the arched eyebrow of displeasure you receive from Female Warrior. After all, if this doesn’t turn up anything, you’ll probably be compelled to start over again from the first floor. All of you are hoping that this time you’ll discover something, anything.

Thus, you proceed into the first chamber without hesitation. You knock down the door, and there, on the other side, it waits for you. An odorless gas floating in the gloom, a chilling thing to encounter.

Odorless? Is it really? Wanting to know whether the eerie feeling you have is warranted, you take a sniff. It’s sweet. The aroma that drifts toward you is something like flowers or perhaps incense…

“Here it comes!” Myrmidon Monk clacks, his antennae flailing. Almost immediately, your weapon is in your hands; you’re in a fighting posture and ready to go. The darkness seems to slither toward you, and out of it emerges—no, that’s not right. The Shade, the darkness itself, attacks you.

“Wha—?” Half-Elf Scout exclaims, his voice scratching. “The hell is this?!”

You can’t hide your own confusion. It’s completely impossible to tell what you’re trying to attack! The way it seems to swirl and writhe makes you think of a living gas cloud, but…

It’s like there’s nothing there…!

You swing your sword but cut only the air, and all you hear is a sort of wheezing laughter. You smell something sickeningly sweet, and your head spins like you’ve had too much to drink.

“Haagh…?!” Suddenly, there’s an anguished cry. It’s Female Warrior. You look over to find her bent double, leaning on her spear as if she can barely stand up. Her eyes are watery, and her cheeks are so red you can see it even in the gloom of the dungeon. Her breath comes in quick, hard gasps. Each time the darkness shifts, she thrashes, her equipment rattling noisily.

You don’t have the chance to call out to her, though. The moment you open your mouth, the darkness enters it. It fills your lungs, a tickling sensation. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it is terrifying. You almost find it hard to breathe, like in that beautiful moment after you’ve shared a kiss with a woman you dearly love.

Strength…bleeding away…!

No…it’s being sucked away. Somehow, you’re sure.

You force strength into your legs, taking a shoulder-width stance, gritting your teeth so hard it feels like they might crack. You convince yourself that you have to resist, somehow, even as you feel the caresses of the miasma working its way under your armor. You feel floaty, drowsy.

Your attention wavers for an instant, and you discover a blank in your consciousness. If you slip into it, you’ll fall asleep. Everything will be easy. But…you doubt you’ll ever come back from it.

“Cap…this is…bad! Gotta stay sharp, or we’ll die…!”

“Hngh… Ahhh!”

Half-Elf Scout’s warning, Female Warrior’s anguished cry—they both seem far away now. She swings her spear as if she’s a child having a tantrum—but it only sweeps through the darkness.

You think you might say something, that you know or to calm down. Then, in front of you, you see the silhouette of a woman. Her hair is red as flames, her skin pale, her body voluptuous as a ripe fruit. On her back are two wings, all bone and flesh—but when you try to focus on her, get a closer look, she seems to melt into an unsteady haze. You blink, she appears; you blink again, she disappears; her shape shifts, and at times she looks like a young woman with black hair wearing black armor.

Is this an illusion birthed by the dark mist, or is it the true form of the creature attacking you? There’s an irresistible whining in your ears. The inarticulate whispers of the dark women. You almost think that, if you listened closely, you could make out what they’re saying, yet ultimately you can discern no meaning in the cacophony. You feel like you’re drowning; you want to open your mouth.

Someone is shouting behind you, but you don’t understand them anymore.

No… This isn’t right…

“O my god of the roaming wind, carry our hearts there and their hearts here!”

A wind comes rushing through, and the women scream. With shrill screeches, the darkness recedes, and you suck in gasping breaths.

“Well, well… Looks like they don’t know what to do with my heart or mind. Damn succubi,” Myrmidon Monk clacks, making a complicated sigil with his hands. That was the Transfer Mental Power miracle just now, you’re sure of it. So even the succubi, whose stock-in-trade is drawing people’s desires out of their dreams and thus leading them into darkness, can’t pierce the veil of a myrmidon’s heart. The great bugman glares at the dark clouds where they’ve drawn back, wiggles his antennae in their direction, and spits, “Not even worth setting up a sanctified space to catch them. Can you stand?”

“Hey, standing’s my favorite thing,” Half-Elf Scout says with as much conviction as he can muster, and you likewise reply, more briefly, that you can do it.

You reach out to Female Warrior where she’s still slumped over, and after a single full-body twitch, she nods. “Sorry. I’m fine…!” She wipes away her sweat and tears, getting to her feet with the help of her spear on the one hand and you on the other. Good.

As for you, you bring your katana to bear and steady your breathing. You keep your eyes on the darkness, widening your stance. Succubi, you’ve heard, are quasi-incorporeal creatures that exist in the realm of the dead. This is what makes them so terrible when they enter dreams and illusions.

But we know what they are now. Armed with that knowledge, awakened and alert, you won’t be taken in so easily again. At the same time, you know your sword can’t touch them—so spells will be the deciding factor.

“You can count on us! Let’s do it!”

“Right! I’ll…I’ll do my best!”

One of the girls responds to your instruction with eagerness, the other with seriousness. At the same time, the darkness howls.

“SUCCCCUUUUUUUUBBBBB!!!!”

It’s some monstrous incantation you don’t recognize, presumably in the tongue of some monstrous realm. A spark, a hellish flash of light, sweeps through the dungeon—you recognize the effect, at least, as the Lightning spell.

But your women, concentrating on the Force while you and your fighters prepare your bodies, are one move ahead.

“Magna remora restinguitur! An end to magic!”

“Lord of judgment, sword-prince, scale-bearer, show here your power!”

Your cousin’s powerful voice causes the magical clouds to disperse, while Female Bishop’s incantation causes the very logic of the air to rewrite itself.

A blast falls as if from the heavens above. A great flash from the gods that reaches all the way to the depths of the dungeon. It is Holy Smite, springing from Female Bishop’s outstretched sword and scales.

“ ?!?!”

The succubi, subject to the judgment of the gods, give an otherworldly screech. The darkness writhes and skitters backward, and for the first time, you see it: ectoplasm scorching and igniting, stuff that thumbs its nose at the laws of physics.

“They may whisper sweet nothings in our ears, they may beg and plead for mercy, but I shall not forgive!” Female Bishop, her face illuminated by the white light, is impossibly cold and clear. “Demons, succubi, and vampires are all living things…and their cries are only those of animals!”

Even if the monsters truly do repent of their actions, a crime demands a punishment. That much is immovable. If these creatures who hide in the darkness truly wish to become people, all the more reason they must accept their just deserts. For the gods have delegated to people the judgment between good and evil.

“They’re no better than goblins…”

You pretend not to hear the last words that squeeze out of Female Bishop’s mouth. They mingle with the last rumbles of thunder and are soon swept away.

An unpleasant smell of ozone in the air signals the end of the battle. No other traces of the darkness remain in the chamber; there’s only your party standing there—no, wait.

“Man, oh man, never expected demons like that to show up…,” Half-Elf Scout says, wiping away nervous sweat as he eyes the treasure chest the creatures have left behind. You nod agreement while listening to Half-Elf Scout’s lockpick scrape in the keyhole. As terrifying as that dragon was, at least it was a creature of this world. You don’t think it’s normal for succubi, creatures from another realm, to just appear like that.

“Do you think it’s really the Demon Lord down at the bottom of the dungeon, then?” your cousin asks with an uncharacteristic note of discomfort, frowning as she waves away the black smoke.

Female Bishop shakes her head slowly, uncertain. “I thought that was just a story… Even considering the miasma of the Death.” She sounds less like she’s seriously objecting and more like she doesn’t want to believe it. You know how she feels—but facts are facts. If there wasn’t some connection to the world beyond this one, you wouldn’t have encounters like the one you just had.

“Speaking of stories…they talk about archmages… Hrrmm…” Your cousin puts a finger to her lips in thought. You say nothing. She knows what she’s talking about; she certainly knows more about magic than you do.

Even if the things that come out of her mouth can be dubious.

Anyway, there are more important matters. You turn to Female Warrior, who looks into the empty space in front of her as if her mind is elsewhere.

‘Doing okay?’

“Mm, I’m fine. Just a little shaken.” She looks annoyed for a second, then shivers. She blinks, then repeats a couple of times that she’s fine, rubbing her face with her hand. So hard she turns red, in fact. “Hey, maybe I could get a drink. My throat’s so dry.”

You nod and toss her your waterskin. Down in the dungeon, it’s easy to lose track of when you’re hungry or thirsty. If you notice the pinch of thirst, you should absolutely drink.

Glug, glug. Female Warrior’s pale throat rises and falls as she swallows the water, and you avert your eyes. “Something’s going on, whatever it is.” Phew. She places her hand to her bountiful chest, finally answering your cousin’s whisper, which had gone without a response until now. Whether they came from a door to the nether realm, or if they were produced by the upwelling of the Death, those weren’t opponents to be trifled with.

“Gate is a lost spell, after all. And even your big sister doesn’t understand it very well yet.” Though, your second cousin insists, she gets the theory. You only briefly acknowledge her comment. Since you have indeed been confronted with actual demons now, though, perhaps you’ll eventually be needing that Demon Core after all.

“Demon Core…” The words drop into the air like pebbles in a pond. Female Bishop seems to be mulling them over. She looks intensely serious.

You wave it away: You were just joking, you tell her, and try to change the subject by asking how the map is coming.

“Oh, right! It’s right here…!” Female Bishop nods quickly, pulling the folded parchment from her bag and trotting over to you. Both vigilance and rest are called for while Half-Elf Scout does battle with the treasure chest, but at the same time, you need to decide where you are and where you’re going. You glance at Female Warrior, who acknowledges you by taking up a fighting stance with her spear and moving toward the wall by the chest. Then, while expressing your appreciation for Myrmidon Monk’s miracle, you also ask him to come over and have a look at the map.

“It was no big deal,” he says, glancing over your shoulder. “So what do you think?”

“There certainly don’t appear to be any doors on the fourth floor…,” Female Bishop says. The three of you study the map, which rustles as you unroll it. Female Bishop’s diagram, your memories, and Myrmidon Monk’s observations all agree.

But there is obviously empty space. A quarter of the floor or perhaps more. The shape of this floor is very odd compared to those of the previous three.

“That’s true.” Female Bishop nods. “Of course, we don’t know for certain that all of the floors in this dungeon are perfect squares.”

“The other three have been. I think it’s a safe assumption to start from,” Myrmidon Monk says, tapping a pointy finger against the as-yet-unmapped portion of the fourth floor. “And I think that entails the assumption that there’s a way to get here and a way to continue farther down.”

‘From the upper levels?’

“Possibly. Possibly not.” Myrmidon Monk’s mandibles clack. “I don’t much care either way.”

It has to be—there’s no other possibility.

This is your conclusion after a brief moment of consideration. The third floor, the second, the first. You need to check them again. If nothing else, it will be better than sinking into depression because there seems to be no way forward.

Just having a marker has changed everything—you mention that, in that sense, you’re grateful to them, too.

“Wha—? Oh…” Female Bishop looks confused at first, but then a pleased smile softens her face. “Yes…you’re very right.”

You don’t have to hate each other. You’ll just take things as they come. Who knows but that years from now, you’ll be telling this story over drinks somewhere.

“Yes, got it!” Half-Elf Scout cheers.

Ah. You fold up the map and hand it back to Female Bishop, then hurry over to the treasure chest.

A sword—a sword—is there any sword? It’s fine if there isn’t. You don’t mind either way.

“Hey,” Myrmidon Monk grunts from behind you (you pretend not to hear), and you peer down over Half-Elf Scout’s shoulder. There’s the usual mountain of gold coins and several items that look like equipment.

“There y’have it, Cap. Gotta have those items identified when we get back up top.” But he thinks there’s something more important to say. “Captain, what kinda woman those succubi look like to you?”

There’s a whistle as the butt of a spear comes flying through the air. “Yipes!” Half-Elf Scout cries as he goes tumbling backward.

“Come on, boys. Can’t let down our guard when there might be traps, can we?” Female Warrior, with her black hair and black armor, is smiling at you both. Half-Elf Scout looks at you. You nod.

Mm, well, yes. True enough.

First things first: You want to go back up. Then you look for a way down.

You jump into action immediately; the others share a smile and then follow you. Another day, and you still haven’t found the stairs. But you’re starting to think maybe having a day like that every once in a while isn’t such a bad thing after all.