Chapter 8

Half-Elf Scout and Myrmidon Monk follow you to go through the assembled loot. Honestly—this is what keeps people coming back to hack and slash. “It’s how a man makes his money,” Half-Elf Scout says. “Can’t stop even if you wanted to.” ‘That’s how adventurers are.’ You nod at him, then reach a gloved hand into the pile. “Pain in the ass,” Myrmidon Monk clacks—but you thank the two of them. Because neither of them said anything about what Female Bishop did just a few moments ago. As the leader of the party, it’s only natural that you should feel grateful to them for being considerate of another member. They look at each other and then declare, almost in unison, ““Hey, it’s nothing.”” You chuckle and drop the subject, determined to continue your exploration. Everything you find—perhaps you ought to have expected this—is adventuring gear. Brand-new armor, weapons, empty pouches, and rank tags. You load all these things, one by one, into one of the hempen sacks you were given as body bags. These beasts seem to have eaten up every adventurer who was careless enough to venture too deep into the first floor. Literally, you suspect—for there is no way to get a proper meal down here in the dungeon. A look in the stewpot makes it all too clear what the men had been living off. Maybe, you think to yourself, what Female Bishop did was exactly the right thing. As Myrmidon Monk mentioned, what you encountered here were not men but monsters. “…Yo, Captain,” Half-Elf Scout says suddenly. You look over to find him despondently holding a dirty cloth and some leather armor. The cloth seems to have served as a hair band; a few strands of golden hair still cling to it. The armor appears to have been white once, though you can hardly tell for the blood and gore splashed across it. You recognize them both. You glance back at Female Warrior, still keeping a vigilant watch, and at Female Bishop and your cousin just across from her. You can’t catch what they’re talking about. But you see your cousin giggle, and even Female Bishop’s stiff face relaxes into a smile. No special need to say anything. Having made the decision, you toss the hair band and armor into the bag. They just look familiar, that’s all. There must be a million adventurers with golden hair or white armor. You murmur as much aloud, and Myrmidon Monk responds with a twitch of his antennae. “…I didn’t see anything at all.” Clack, clack go his mandibles, and then he makes a holy sigil in front of his chest. “May all those who died here be blessed with a fine wind.” You nod and stand. You’ve done all that needs to be done. You have no more business here. Let’s go. “…Come on—let’s get going,” your cousin says to Female Bishop then. “It’s been a hard day. We need to make sure we get a nice, long rest.” “Right. Right…,” Female Bishop replies, and the two of them get to their feet. You turn your eyes toward Female Warrior, and much as you expected, you find her giggling with that ambiguous expression on her face. You and your companions form up, then check one another’s equipment. Nothing amiss. And no serious injuries, either. You nod your approval, then lead everyone out of the chamber, preparing to make your way back to the surface. You say something to Female Bishop, who responds, “Oh, sorry,” and quickly riffles through her belongings for the map. Her guidance is clear and sure, with no hint of hesitation, and you start to think this is going to be okay. Thankfully, as you proceed from hallway to chamber, chamber to hallway, you don’t encounter any wandering monsters. As you explore deeper and deeper into the dungeon, you’re going to have to start taking the journey home into account. Every warrior, however experienced, has a limit to their strength and focus. Repeated battles wear away one’s life. Even were it not so, how many chances does this Dungeon of the Dead really offer for life? “I admit it was tough…,” your cousin says suddenly, when you reach the top of the ladder leading from the second floor to the first. You’ve taken a very brief break to collect yourselves and have a drink. She’s sat right down on the stone floor of the hallway and is smiling as if somehow relieved. “But now it’s a little less dangerous for those girls to adventure, huh?” ‘Sure’ is all you say. The surface is practically before your eyes now. When you reach the entrance—the exit—of the dungeon, you find it filled with a gentle light, so different from the darkness below. Up in the sky, you see the stars and the twin moons shining. It is well into the night by now. The royal knight on guard duty must sense something from your demeanor, because she simply bows silently to you. After all, she can’t miss the blood-soaked bag you’re carrying or the evidence of a major battle. You just shrug at her as you go past, walking slowly along the road to town. “Oof, man… Talk about tired…,” Half-Elf Scout says. “My feet are killing me. And I’m sweating from head to toe. I just want to wipe myself off…” Female Warrior groans miserably. You nod at them; it’s understandable. This was your first time down to the second floor, and you had to endure a huge battle, to boot. You don’t believe you made any specific errors of judgment, but all the same, you’re impressed that everyone was able to keep pace. You could thank them from the bottom of your heart, or you could thank Fate and Chance for keeping everyone safe. “…I know!” your cousin says, clapping her hands as she patters up to you with her face shining. “It’s been such tough adventuring—why don’t we take a little break tomorrow?” “Wha—? But…” Female Bishop’s face clouds over, and she looks at the others to see how they react. Stupid second cousin, always dropping these ideas out of the blue. You see that Female Bishop’s face is clean; your cousin must have been kind enough to wipe off the blood spatter. Even so, the tinge of fretfulness is unmistakable, and you can feel her getting nervous again. “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks. “Well, we worked hard today. Didn’t we?” your cousin says back, looking at you. You think about it for a moment, then nod and say it’s probably all right. For one thing, everything you’ve heard suggests the pace of your party is considerably faster than those of most other adventurers. Although maybe that’s because… “Not a man jack of them cares about anything but making money. Not that it matters to me.” The remark Myrmidon Monk spit out is right. All too few adventurers are truly interested in discovering the source of the Death that lurks in the depths of the dungeon. The closer you get to town, the more ruddy-faced, grinning adventurers you see wearing ostentatious equipment. On some level, you could say those rogues were simply enthralled by the dungeon’s riches, just like the rest. There are those enthralled by the Death, by this awful maze. They’re like wandering monsters themselves, Non-Prayer Characters. That’s why you must challenge the second floor and, someday, the third. And you need to take care of yourselves now if you’re going to keep moving forward. “True that,” Half-Elf Scout says. “Heading into parts unknown while we’re still rundown? That’s a death wish if I ever heard one.” You’re glad that he agrees. In any case, the goal for today is to simply get back to the inn. Selling the equipment you found (dead adventurers swing no swords) and delivering the rank tags to the temple can wait until tomorrow. As you say all this, you register how tired you are yourself. Don’t forget—you both fought and used magic today. “I told you, rest is best.” It remains a mystery to you just why your cousin is grinning as brightly as she is. But as you return a tired smile, you can’t help feeling…at home. It is the height of good fortune that you’ve encountered such rare and fine companions. Full of the satisfaction of a job well done, you eventually collapse onto the pile of straw in the stables. You fully expect to sleep like a log tonight… But ironically, complete exhaustion can actually make sleep lighter. Maybe some of the nerves of battle are still with you, because it seems like the slightest sound grates on your ears. You sit up off the surprisingly comfortable pile of straw, picking bits of the stuff from your clothes. Half-Elf Scout, nearby, mumbles something in his sleep. Maybe Myrmidon Monk’s finding it hard to settle down, too, because he’s tossing and turning over in a corner of the stable. Careful not to wake the others, you grab your beloved sword and slowly work your way outside. A pleasantly cool night breeze wafts a sweet aroma to your nostrils. Soap, perhaps. Is the fact that you can notice that a sign of how much your level has increased? Now that you think about it, how long has it been since you came to this town? You’ve found excellent companions, adventured in the dungeon, and survived bouts of mortal combat. Each only represents a small bit of experience, but together they’ve really changed you. “…And? Ever gonna talk to me?” One of those priceless companions is standing just outside the stable. Female Warrior smiles at you, and, just as she once did, you beckon her to come take a seat on a pile of straw. “Sure… Mm, soft as ever.” She sits surprisingly lightly, then draws her knees up to her chin, looking pleased. “Say,” she says, tilting her head like a child. “Were you hoping for something today?” You smile and shake your head. No. “Huh,” she mumbles with disinterest. But what, you wonder, is this about? Isn’t she just as tired as you? “Hmm? For some reason, the more tired I am, the more awake I feel.” She obviously went right back to her room to clean herself off, because her hair is glistening. “I guess you could say I’m…killing time?” Makes sense. Both of you realize this conversation is no different than it was last night. So what comes next must be the same, too. You wait silently, expectantly. “…Aw, who am I kidding? That’s just an excuse…” She glances at you out of the corner of her eye and smiles faintly. “I thought maybe I should say thank you while I have the chance. Or something like that.” And you, just like the other night, look up at the moons shining in the sky and smile. ‘Truth is, haven’t done much to be thanked for.’ You made good on the responsibility you accepted when you became party leader, and you brought everyone home safely. That’s really it—if anything, you should be thanking them. You tell her all this as casually as you can. “…True.” Female Warrior imitates you, looking up at the moons and squinting against the night breeze. For a while, neither of you says anything. You could say something to her, or you could keep the silence. After a moment’s thought, you tell her calmly that if there’s anything she wants to talk about, she should feel free. “Oh, very encouraging. I think you’ve been spending a bit too much time with a certain monk.” She giggles, but you weren’t really joking. You meant every word. If she wants to talk about something, she can certainly talk; if she doesn’t want to, you don’t intend to drag it out of her. You’re happy to stay quiet if that’s what she wants or to talk if she would prefer. It’s not as if you have to know every detail of each other’s stories to be companions or friends. But—if you had to call it one way or the other, you would say she looks like she wants to talk. In fact, she just said she’d come to talk while she could, so she shouldn’t be surprised that you’re asking. “Hmm…,” Female Warrior murmurs noncommittally, her lips creasing into that teasing smile of hers. “I think you’re just humoring me. Did you learn how from that big sister of yours?” She’s your second cousin, you insist. And this has nothing to do with her. It’s purely a matter of your own personality. “Okay—so say I don’t want to talk?” Then that will be what it will be. She can stay and watch the moons without a word or go back to her room and try to sleep. You return this answer as nonchalantly as possible. Female Warrior watches you for a long moment, then finally, with a note of exasperation, says, “…Honestly. Sometimes I think I’m gonna go crazy talking to you…” You don’t say anything back, just shrug. Female Warrior sniffs and pouts. Finally, she continues. “Listen, I… I’ve always believed that what happens twice happens three times.” ‘What happens twice?’ “Mm.” She nods. “Remember how when you met me, I was asking the temple to do some burials? Well…that was the second group.” You do remember she seemed immensely calm despite the fact that her party had just been destroyed. You had assumed it was an attitude born from deep experience with the dungeon, but even so, you were surprised. “When I started out, you know, I had some…older sisters, you might call them. Girls from the same orphanage. We figured that if we were going to be adventurers, we should all start out together.” You’ve heard that’s quite common. Those girls you met were the same way. Not unusual at all. Of course, whether children or elderly, everyone faces the same conditions. You have to play the game with the cards you’re dealt, win or lose with what is in your hand. Complain if you like—it won’t change anything. The dice of Fate and Chance treat all equally. Even the gods. “Well, I guess I had good luck, if nothing else. “Got attacked by some bushwackers, and the older girls all died.” Female Warrior actually giggles a little as she says this; you can’t imagine what’s in her mind or her heart right now. She might be the only one who knows. You decide not to indulge in idle speculation. “We thought, if there’s a Death down in the dungeon, maybe there’s a Life, too. But it didn’t go so well, that…” You can’t judge the depth of feeling concealed in those whispered words. The dead do not come back to life. That’s one of the immutable rules of this Four-Cornered World. Even the Resurrection miracle performed by the clerics at the temple only calls life back from the cusp of death. Like the pips of the dice, death cannot be revoked or changed. If the possibility exists at all, it must rest only in some legacy from the Age of the Gods or perhaps in a divine miracle—a real one. But if all that dwells in the depths of the dungeon is the Death—if it is something truly beyond human understanding—then she simply gambled on that tiny sliver of a chance. “With everyone dying around me, I figured I had to get out of there quickly.” If she dropped dead before she could bring them back, who would there be to resurrect her companions? At this, a sly smile crosses your face, and you remark that that’s a poor excuse. What are the chances of a newly minted adventurer getting out of the proving grounds alive? Of course, you figure she knows that better than you do. “Sorry,” Female Warrior says now with a catlike rasp in the back of her throat. “Ha-ha. It was just a joke. I made it up. Every word. Just thought I’d tease you a bit, that’s all.” She practically leaps to her feet. She kicks her long legs like a child playing a game. You don’t get up. You simply watch her. You ask if she’s feeling better. “…Mn. I’m fine now. Thanks. I’m starting to want my bed, you know? …Think I’ll head back.” You might have tomorrow off, but you did go on an adventure today. Best to get some rest, you tell her. She just waves her hand over her shoulder as you watch her go… “Oh, one more thing,” she says. She turns back to you, and the gossamer moonlight paints her face a pale white as she whispers, “…This one’s real.” She giggles, and her face blossoms into a smile. Before you can say anything back, she leaves the stables behind. You take care to make sure her name is held deep in your heart—not the number she bears but her real name. You won’t let yourself forget it. Now that you have a chance to think, you’re startled by how much happened in the course of one day, one adventure. The night is quiet again now that you’re alone. The only sounds you hear are those that drift to you from the inn, the opening of the gate, and occasional footsteps. You know well why the gates might open at this hour, why a crowd of people might come into the town. Another village or city somewhere has succumbed to the Death, the people there have lost their homes, and at the end of their wanderings, they find themselves at this fortress city.