“Huh? Nah, just, we’re new in town. Thought we might say hello, introduce ourselves in case we needed any help later…” “I see! What a lovely idea!” “So, uh, lookin’ forward to your help if we show up on the edge of death…” The scout looks increasingly uncomfortable in the face of the eager nun. This was, after all, the front line of the war against the Death. It wasn’t only the pious faithful who showed up to pray. Many present were adventurers, castoffs from who knew where, seeking a miracle. If the temple simply granted all requests at no charge out of the goodness of their hearts, they would soon find themselves being ripped off and exploited in every which way. The gods were merciful, but they were also just. Receiving a boon from their followers was permitted only after repentance. I think I get it now: No one believes in the gods so fervently as someone hanging from a cliffside. “Ah—ahem—th-this isn’t much, but…” Female Bishop reaches a slim arm between the two of you (she can’t have guessed what you’re thinking, can she?) and hands the nun a few small coins. The other woman takes them, counts them carefully, then wraps them in a cloth for holding donations. We’ll definitely need to establish a common purse for the party. “Thank you kindly,” the nun says, her manner softening—and then she sees Female Bishop’s face and blinks. “Say, aren’t you…?” You think perhaps she’s about to remark on the scars that even serving the gods can’t seem to remedy, but instead she says, “I see. Found yourself some companions, have you? Perhaps that, too, is the gods’ guidance.” And the nun traces a holy sigil in front of herself in lovely, flowing motions. Now you see. She is a cleric after all. While you’re having this somewhat inappropriate thought, your cousin butts in: “That’s rude.” You ignore her and look at Half-Elf Scout. Whatever he was hoping to “pick up”—is it here? “Good point,” he says. “Say, Sister. Mind if we pick out an adventurer?” “Feel free,” the nun replies with a smile. “Our lord is the master of meetings and partings as well, after all.” Then she bows her head with an elegant motion and bids them a good day before disappearing deeper into the temple. You ask what’s going on. “I’ve only heard rumors,” Half-Elf Scout begins. But then he says, “There’s supposed to be this miracle Preservation.” This temple, it seems, doesn’t simply abandon the wounded to die. Of course, there are many who are simply beyond help, no matter how many prayers are said over their shattered bodies, but for an appropriate donation, the people of this temple are more than happy to say a benediction. And just because a person at death’s door has no money doesn’t mean the priests are so heartless as to leave them to their fate. Those wounded who have breath, however faint, left in their bodies but who cannot afford an appropriate offering are put to sleep with a miracle until that day when their companions can bring the money they need. “It don’t last forever is what I hear, but still. Not to mention, Preservation is like Resurrection—needs faith.” On this last word, Half-Elf Scout curls his fingers in a gesture that clearly means money and then gives a helpless shrug. “And let’s just say a lotta people go down in the dungeon in hopes of becoming a lot more faithful.” Ah. Now you understand. If a party has been so thoroughly battered that it has reached this stage of desperation, then almost by definition, it lacks the strength to challenge the dungeon. Half-Elf Scout intends to find some such adventurer and try to get them to join your party, even temporarily. “Sounds like a lot of ’em just get left behind… Or so they say,” he adds, staring down the hallway the nun disappeared into—but looking a bit unsettled. Some might come close to earning the money they need only to be destroyed again; others could find new party members or simply leave town altogether… There were also adventurers now awaiting companions who would never return. How many such forgotten men and women slept here in this temple? Who knows? You yourself might be one someday. “So my thinking is, we have one of ’em, any one of ’em, brought back. Consider the healing fee a debt.” Half-Elf Scout speaks lightly, as if to dispel your concerns. “After all, not like we can pay it out of pocket!” “I would prefer to avoid such methods if possible…,” Female Bishop says, her face drawn. Maybe she’s thinking along the same lines as you are. You voice your agreement. In any event, it’s a last resort. Not a choice that will be open to you until you have some money. Your discussion is interrupted by the approach of a heavy sound. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. Whatever they are, there are five of them: hempen bags, soaked with some dark-red substance. Each one, tied with a rope, is just about big enough for a person to fit inside. “What’s going on…?” your cousin says, cocking her head, perplexed. You mutter that those are body bags. And by the looks of it, the person dragging them along is an adventurer. “Any priests around here? I’d like to request five burials.” It’s the very definition of an enchanting voice. There stands a gorgeous woman, all elegant curves and ample bosom, clad in black. In her hand is a spear, and the bloody bandages wrapped here and there around her body suggest she’s a warrior just back from the dungeon. “Burials?” replies a priest in a businesslike tone. “Have you informed the next of kin?” “Not sure it matters. I don’t think they know anyone else here—I sure don’t.” The warrior’s tone is matter-of-fact, her words mercifully ruthless. “Then I’ll start the procedures for burial,” the priest says with a bow, and the woman puts down the pack she’s carrying. It’s better than a body bag but still heavy, and as it hits the stone floor of the temple, it jangles loudly. Equipment. You understand intuitively. It’s the gear that belonged to the dead adventurers. It’s perfectly clear now that this woman is an adventurer whose party was completely wiped out, aside from her. She brushes her cheek with an exhausted motion, letting out a sigh as she brushes her hair lazily back over her shoulders. “Oh…,” Female Bishop murmurs quietly. She’s been listening very closely, and now her sightless eyes settle on the female warrior. Remembering what happened earlier, you stay vigilant, hand on the hilt of your sword, as you say, ‘You know her?’ “Yes,” Female Bishop answers with a nod. “Ahem, she’s an adventurer…” Female Bishop stops there, looking deeply discouraged to realize she doesn’t need to explain this. Maybe she isn’t very used to conversation. You shake your head and tell her not to worry, encourage her to continue. “She’s been kind enough to speak to me before, at the tavern,” Female Bishop explains. “At least, I think that’s her.” Considering the state of her vision, it must be hard to tell. You’re nodding your acknowledgment when: “Good heavens, I can at least introduce my own self.” The voice comes from beside you, unexpectedly, and you take a quick step back. She got the drop on you. The woman smiles at you from just steps away. You can smell a sweet fragrance on her hair mixed with the scents of blood and dust. She takes a sliding step forward, into striking distance of you. She’s about your own age, and though you thought you were watching her, you never saw her start to move. Is this what it means to be a veteran of the dungeon? You mentally chide yourself for your lapse—maybe she notices, maybe she doesn’t, but either way, she brings her hands together in front of her large chest. “Hee-hee—finally found yourself some friends, eh? That’s good. I was starting to worry about you.” “Er, oh, yes,” replies Female Bishop with a fretful nod. “Only just now…” “Well, nice to meet you, O brave leader,” Female Warrior says, casting her eyes slowly in your direction. Then she utters a number you don’t quite follow. “I’m a freelance fighter. Fresh back on the market…” She flashes you a sweetheart smile; you nod hesitantly and introduce yourself in return. When you tell her you just came to the fortress city and are looking for companions, she says, “That so?” The look in her eye is practiced; you would hardly imagine she had just requested burial for five of her party members. But what was that number she gave you…? “Oh, that’s my identification number. Might as well be my name. I became an adventurer instead of paying taxes, so—you see? No big deal.” You notice your cousin shifting uncomfortably behind you. You don’t particularly agree with the warrior’s choice, but since she herself doesn’t seem to mind it, you have no reason to argue. Your cousin, it would seem, feels differently. “Um… Are you okay?” She sounds uneasy but nonetheless addresses Female Warrior directly. “Oh, perfectly,” the fighter responds with a disinterested wave of her hand. “I only just met them in the tavern yesterday anyway. It’s tougher the first time.” That little addition causes your cousin to choke out, “The dungeon… You went down there, didn’t you?” She gulps audibly. “Well, I only made it as far as the first room before I came running home.” Female Warrior—you hesitate to think of her by the number she gave you—looks at you again. A pointed, almost flirtatious glance that would certainly invite a misunderstanding from many a man she turned it on… “I’d be very happy if you’d invite me along. I may not look like much, but I’m better than your big sister there.” Considering the offer, you never take your hand off your weapon nor your eyes off the other warrior as you ask everyone, “What do you think?” “Another beautiful woman? No complaints from me,” Half-Elf Scout pipes up. “Ha-ha!” Female Warrior laughs, then whispers, “I’m flattered.” Is it just your imagination, or do you hear a hint of a threat underneath the remark? “Me, I guess…I’m perfectly happy to have more women in the group,” your cousin says. “And if she’s already been in the dungeon, so much the better.” Female Bishop doesn’t say anything—perhaps she doesn’t think you were asking her. She’s been listening silently, but at your urging, she says quickly, “Oh, yes.” Nothing more than that, and you decide to take it as agreement. So that’s everyone. And yet… “Heh-heh. What? Something the matter?” Female Warrior asks before you can open your mouth. She’s sharp. She may be even more perceptive than you, despite all the training you’ve done learning to read people and situations. After intense consideration, you tell her that you wish to see what she can do in a single move. You have no objection to inviting her along, you say, but you want to know what she’s capable of. This party is your responsibility, however temporary it may be. Insofar as ability corresponds directly to life and death, it behooves you to know how strong your party members are… No, you say finally, that’s all an excuse. You have no choice but to admit that you were secretly excited just now. You’re picturing those adventurers from before, old hands of the dungeon: You came this close to testing yourself against them but didn’t get the chance. You won’t hide your desire to know whether your skills can match hers. “Hmm. Well, when you put it that way…” You almost feel the look in her eyes change… The quiet thump as she leaps in and the hush of your sword sliding out of its scabbard come almost simultaneously. You duck forward, rising up as you draw and strike from below. There’s a rush of air, and the tip of your blade meets the haft of her spear with a clang. At that moment, the tip of her spear is already over your head—even though it was at throat height an instant ago. Though the tip of the spear is currently covered, a good chop with it would at least have knocked you out. You flick the spear away with the back of your blade, holding the grip with just one hand, then return your other hand to the hilt just in time to prepare to bring it down. By then, Female Warrior has adjusted her own grip on her weapon and is preparing to stab again… “Ha!” Her laugh is as much exhalation as mirth, and you see the aggression in her eyes soften. “I’m only sorry we agreed on just one move. I would’ve liked to see how that played out.” She spins the spear around before tapping the butt against the floor, and you nod slowly at her. The first move was evenly matched, if only just. The second? You’re not sure how it would have gone. “What do you think you’re doing, whipping your sword at a woman you just met?! Your big sister is very angry!” Your big sister, sure—that would be your cousin. You make a face like you just swallowed something bitter. You know you’ve done your share of training. Nor did you discount her simply because she took the offer on the spot. But it turns out that even a little experience in the dungeon—if you come back alive—makes a world of difference. “U-um, what…? What exactly are you two doing…?” Female Bishop asks uneasily, not having understood what was going on. “Never you mind,” Half-Elf Scout says. “They’re not fighting. Or maybe they are, but you know what they say: The more you fight, the closer you get.” ‘Probably,’ you respond, turning back to the others and bowing your head. What just happened was entirely a personal indulgence, all due to your own inexperience. “Ugh, I can’t believe you!” your cousin cries, but you think this is good. In fact… “Not to put too fine a point on it,” comes a chilly voice from behind you, “but those who are faithless enough to engage in violence right in the temple might very well deserve to be turned to ash, don’t you think?” You turn around to see the nun from before, her face studiously expressionless. You can’t find anything to say, but from beside you, Female Warrior pipes up—“Yes’m”—with a pleasant smile. “You understand I’m not joking, yes?” “Of course, miss, certainly. Very sorry.” “For goodness’ sake.” The nun heaves a sigh at Female Warrior, who shows no sign of feeling particularly guilty. “Be that as it may… This is a place of meetings and partings. May a favorable wind blow before you. May it blow all the way to the deepest depths of the dungeon.” The nun traces the holy sigil again. You understand now that this town really does need this temple. In any event, you know how you feel about Female Warrior: Now you wonder if you met her standards… “Let’s see…,” she says to this, putting a hand to her cheek thoughtfully. “I’ve got no complaints—take it you don’t, either?” And then she flashes you a sharklike smile. There’s a screech of metal, and a steel ball the size of your fist goes flying into the night sky. An elf picks up the Wizball, which carries a death curse, with his bare hands. The crowd gathered in the arena on the edges of the fortress city raises a hearty cheer. You aren’t very familiar with the rules of this game, but you gather that this move scored some points. The elves in the audience stamp their feet as the white numbers change on a blackboard high above. The stadium is utter cacophony. People shout, cheer, and taunt. Vendors work their way along the narrow aisles, likewise shouting, “Wine, bread, cat meat.” Even you almost feel overwhelmed—you can’t imagine how Female Bishop must be feeling at this moment. She’s pale, pressing a hand to her forehead, but when you ask if she’s all right, she nods bravely. “I—I was just a little taken aback… I’m fine.” “Yeah, it’s like some kind of festival!” your second cousin says, staring openly at the crowd. You ask Half-Elf Scout what exactly is going on. “I guess when you spend all day risking your life, you like to relax by watching other people risk theirs,” he says. It sounds so simple. You nod. You do understand that it’s easier to be amused by events that don’t directly concern you. In the stadium below, a party led by a ranger is pitching the steel ball to a party led by a warlock. Even your cousin cringes as you hear flesh squish and see blood fly, but meanwhile… “Hmm. Pretty sure he’s usually around here,” says Female Warrior. She’s the one who brought you to this stadium. Adventuring parties that dare to challenge the dungeon usually consist of six people at most. That’s partly because of the restrictive width of the dungeon’s corridors, but it also allows one to keep track of all members in a party and make sure nobody falls behind. If nothing else, the nation itself has already demonstrated that simply sending soldiers en masse is nothing more than a recipe for feeding the Death. Six people is also, it might be said, roughly the largest group in which everyone can all look after their own equipment and resources. It would be no laughing matter if someone was eaten by a monster while trying to balance the account books. And so—six people. From that perspective, you could do with finding one more party member. A warrior or a spell caster? Beggars can’t be choosers, but someone who knows a bit of magic would be nice. “I’m sure you can sling a spell or two, can’t you?” Female Warrior says in response to this remark, smiling again. You’re just leaving the temple. Maybe she figured it out when the two of you were squaring off. You nod the affirmative, and she nods back, satisfied. “And that girl there, she must know some magic.” This time she turns to the person walking at the very back of your line, Female Bishop. “I do, too!” your second cousin interjects; you ignore her and question Female Bishop instead. “Only minor spells, but yes. I know some of the ways of magic use.” That being the case, then out of the five of you, you have three spell casters: yourself, your cousin, and Female Bishop. You wonder if Half-Elf Scout might not have something up his sleeve as well. You glance at him, but he waves his hand dismissively. “Not me,” he says. What about this final person, then? “How about a monk?” Female Warrior asks. “I know someone I could introduce you to…” Female Warrior’s introduction is exactly what you need. Then again, you think as she leads you to the arena, maybe it’s a clever bit of work on her part. Bring her friend into the party to help secure her own position. You’re a bit taken aback by how naturally she managed it. “Are there really monks in a place like this?” your cousin asks. “Heh-heh— Sure there are. Don’t know how serious they are about their spirituality, though,” Female Warrior says, spotting the person she’s looking for among the crowd. She tells you to wait for a moment, then slips away through the mass of people. A moment later, she returns, trailed by a lithe figure who literally stands head and shoulders above the crowd. His face looks like that of an insect—this is the first time you’ve seen one of these strange beings up close, but you know he’s a Myrmidon. A Myrmidon monk. “Huh, so you’re the ones looking for a monk?” the Myrmidon says almost disinterestedly, his mandibles clacking together. His antennae bob as he takes you in before producing a dramatic sigh. “Women and children and one identifier. Are you really adventurers?” Female Bishop doesn’t so much as flinch at these cold words. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised, considering what she endured as recently as a few hours earlier, but your cousin looks at him scathingly. “Master Monk. I hardly think that’s any way to talk to two women you’ve just met. True, we’re inexperienced, but still…” “I’m only saying what everyone around you sees when they look at you. You need to be aware of it.” Hmm… You raise an eyebrow at Myrmidon Monk’s words. Maybe he’s not as bad a guy as he first sounded… Maybe. In any event, he hasn’t said anything about Female Bishop’s eyes. You glance at Half-Elf Scout and finally see the edges of his lips turn up in a smile. “Eh, no need to act tough, I guess. We’re a team, and they stole the words right out of my mouth.” Female Bishop takes her cue from this, saying “That’s right” in a voice as quiet as a buzzing mosquito. “I admit I don’t yet know…just how much I can do… But even so…” Myrmidon Monk looks at the young woman, who attempts to face him despite her obvious fear, and clacks his mandibles uncomfortably. “…And what are you after?” ‘After?’ you parrot. He’s changed the subject right out from under you. “Money? Or perhaps…the wellspring of the Death that’s said to lie in the deepest depths of the dungeon? I don’t care either way, personally…” You look around at the others. ‘May I say what I think?’ “Fine by me,” your cousin replies immediately, smiling. “Sis has got your back!” Darn second cousin. You sigh. This is something about your cousin that you have unalloyed respect for. Half-Elf Scout grins, but beside him, Female Bishop doesn’t seem quite sure what to focus on. “Um, you’re speaking of challenging the labyrinth, yes?” she says. “Y’know, you’re right—we never talked about that,” Female Warrior says with a grin of her own. “By the way, I’m after the money.” But she probably knew that already. You take a breath in, then let it out. ‘There’s only one reason to go down there,’ you announce. You don’t want to pretend that the whirlpool of money emerging from the dungeon holds no interest for you, but you have only one ultimate goal in delving the depths: to reach the lowest level and strike down the source of the Death. “Do you mean that?” Female Bishop asks, blinking her unseeing eyes. “Is that really what you intend to do…?!” There are shades of joy in her voice—or so you think, but perhaps you’re only imagining it. You reply that of course you mean it. You don’t know whether you’ll reach your goal, but you intend to try. “Heh-heh! That was my plan all along, even if the cap didn’t want to go all the way down there. Who’s worried about a little dungeon anyway?” “Maybe the guy whose voice is shaking?” Female Warrior teases, her laughter pealing like a ringing bell. “Hey, what’s scary is scary!” Half-Elf Scout shoots back, his face stiff, but he’s chuckling a little himself. “I see— You are serious,” Myrmidon Monk says with a long nod. “All right, I’m in.” ‘You don’t care that we’re new to this?’ “I did, but I changed my mind. I’m starting to wonder just who it is hiding down there at the bottom of that maze.” Myrmidon Monk’s mandibles clack together in a confidence-inspiring way. That settles it, then. Your cousin, Half-Elf Scout, and you. Female Bishop, a former item identifier, a female warrior with no other harbor, and Myrmidon Monk. The six of you together are going to challenge the Dungeon of the Dead. In other words—this is the beginning of your adventure. The Dungeon of the Dead sits on the edge of the fortress city, a great maw waiting for adventurers to enter. Those jaws have swallowed many brave souls who have come before you, and now they now wait like a looming monster. The sun is past its zenith when you arrive, though it is still bright out. As soon as the light reaches the entrance of the dungeon, though, it seems to fail instantaneously, leaving only a stretch of darkness. The dungeon will show no secrets to those without the courage to take even a single step inside. “So this is it… The Dungeon of the Dead…” Female Bishop’s voice is a trembling whisper. She’s more terrified than awed, but there’s someone else whose voice is shaking even worse than hers. “S-stop that. Actin’ all scared, I mean. You’re gonna start freaking me out, too…” It’s Half-Elf Scout. He plays with the dagger at his belt, his fingers twitching. You sigh in exasperation, and Female Warrior chuckles “Heh-heh” at almost the same time. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s our job to look after the people behind us.” You concur. If the enemies’ blades—do they have blades? You don’t know—reach your back row, you will already be lost. The group hasn’t talked too much about what you’ll do down in the dungeon. Most of you only just met over the last few days, after all. Overly clever attempts at coordination aren’t likely to get you much. At the very least, though, you decide to divide yourselves into front and back rows and try not to get in one another’s way. “But when we come back, everyone eats together!” your cousin reminds you with a grin that belies the gravity of the situation. Does she act that way on purpose? You’re not sure. In any event, you need her. You nod, managing to only gently press your hand to your forehead. You’ll let her choose what spells to use and when. “Oh? I get to decide?” You hate to admit it, but your cousin is the most experienced member of your party when it comes to magic. You’ll be busy with your sword up front, so you think it might be best to let her handle matters in the rear. When you ask Myrmidon Monk if he’s all right with this, he clacks out, “I don’t care either way. I can come up front as well. Which means, by process of elimination, you’ll be handling the treasure chests, thief.” “Y-yeah, sure,” Half-Elf Scout says. “But, uh, I’m a scout…” “I don’t really care what you are. What matters to me is that you don’t run away even if it kills you. If you try to flee, I swear I’ll hex you to death. I’ll work for just about anything, but I won’t work for free.” “Wh-whatever you say, man! Just remember I’m gonna put an end to this dungeon one of these days—don’t underestimate me!” You notice Female Bishop chuckling to herself at this exchange. You’re all nervous. Yes, even you—but you think that’s okay. Having decided so, you start toward the dungeon entrance. The fortress city is built to enclose the mouth of the dungeon. It exists to prevent what is inside from getting out into the wider world, and an armed soldier is posted at the entrance. You bow politely to her—judging by the crest on her ample chest, she’s a member of the royal guard—and reach for your porcelain rank tag. “Oh, don’t bother. We don’t worry about ranks around here anymore,” she says, waving her hand nonchalantly. She sounds downright cheerful. You keep one eye on her, but despite her relaxed tone, you don’t see so much as an instant’s lapse in her vigilance, and you realize just how much more powerful a member of the royal guard is than you. “The only things that count here are how far you’ve gotten in the dungeon, if you came back alive, and whether you keep coming back for more!” “…Is it really that brutal?” Female Bishop asks in a voice strained with anxiety. “Whatever you’ve heard, it’s worse!” the guard replies. “Half the people who go in come running right back out—or die on their first visit.” ‘And the other half?’ “Eventually die exploring, I guess.” The guard lets out a guffaw, then tosses five sacks at you. You ask her what they’re for, to which she answers, “Body bags,” her smile never faltering. “Five’s plenty. A sixth wouldn’t do you any good.” “No one to collect your corpses if you all die,” you hear Female Warrior murmur from behind you, not sounding especially amused. It’s just banter to this guard—you don’t think she’s trying to intimidate you. You frown. Anyway, if this is enough to scare you off, then you have no business in that dungeon. You aren’t sure whether the gesture is on behalf of the nation or a bit of kindness from the guard herself… “If you’re scared, how about you go home? You must have families—well, not must, I guess.” The corners of your lips twist upward. You turn to your companions and ask, ‘Onward?’ Your question is met with nods. “It’s all the same to me,” Myrmidon Monk says. “If you won’t go down there, I’ll just find someone who will.” You shake your head and tell him there won’t be any need for that, then indicate to the guard that there are no problems. “Okay,” she says, smiling at you. “You look like you gel together. That’s not enough to keep you alive, but… “Better than a party that doesn’t get along.” You react to her whisper with an ambiguous expression. Do you, indeed, “gel”? You aren’t sure. The only thing that will prove the matter one way or the other is when you come back alive from your dungeon crawl. You look around at the others one more time, then slowly take a step into the darkness of the dungeon. From behind you, the guard calls out, “Welcome to the proving ground!” In front of you is the ladder you just climbed down, set into the rock face. As party leader, you have the job of making sure everyone gets back here in one piece. But then you notice something… You blink. The dungeon’s shadows, uncommonly thick, veiling the world around you and making it hard even to breathe. You squint, but your eyes show no sign of adapting to the darkness; you can detect only a faint light. All you can see is a “wire frame,” the barest outline of whatever looms around you in the dark. “All right, just like we planned it,” says Myrmidon Monk. “The warriors and me up front, the rest of you in back.” “Aye aye!” Still, having someone with experience does make things go smoother. As Myrmidon Monk instructs, Half-Elf Scout moves to the back row. You’re glad it won’t be just the two ladies there. You’ve heard it was the supernatural character of the space in this labyrinth that was the greatest obstacle to the soldiers who ventured here in serried ranks. That also accounts for why adventuring parties hardly, if ever, encounter one another in the depths.
Chapter 3
26 min read