Outside, the whole village was in a terrible mood. Though not everyone had been awakened by the bell, and some who were had stayed away due to their beliefs or other reasons, by now most people knew what had been discussed during the night.

  Family told family, friends told friends; gossip of such importance spread with impressive ease. Not only had the news reached most, if not all, of the village, but many had already made their decisions.

  A few people carried newly bought blades from the forge. Even though the leader had announced free equipment, the guess was they wanted something of better quality. Some men ran shirtless across the dirt roads, training their bodies and endurance.

  Some families collected their few possessions and joined with others, readying to leave the village in the face of such a threat. In any case, no one doubted the dungeon was real, even if they hadn't seen it themselves. The reason was simple: why would the village leader lie and announce such a huge reward if it were fake? He must have confirmed the news; otherwise, the bells would never have been rung.

  Obviously, as the news traveled, it had changed. Some claimed goblins and kobolds were joining forces to attack the village, that the reward was five gold coins, and others even said demons were behind the early opening. It was… unexplainable, so of course people were confused.

  Managing to stay calm and grounded in a situation like this was a task for few.

  Be that as it may, Faust was in the backyard with his uncle.

  His shirtless body was drenched in sweat. The grass bore a few marks of vomit, and he now lay collapsed in a patch of weeds.

  Faust couldn't even try to get up; he was completely exhausted. His uncle had made him run around the backyard until he collapsed, and such a reaction from an untrained person was natural.

  A lack of assertiveness was a flaw he possessed. He couldn't argue well or convince people; sometimes he would simply give up on discussions and take the easier path, usually agreeing with strange things. In short, he was socially inept.

  With a single command from his uncle, Faust had exerted himself until told to stop. Of course, Rust was not slacking either.

  In fact, his training was even more intense than Faust’s. He ran, did push-ups and pull-ups, and swung his blade in motions that seemed erratic at first but which he was gradually regaining.

  Unfortunately, his body was also in poor condition. Years of heavy drinking and poor eating had left his core a skinny, fatty mess. But Faust couldn't look away, seeing the tan skin of his uncle covered in scars, with a clear foundation waiting to be rebuilt.

  Shaking his head on the ground, a fleeting thought passed through his mind:

  I don’t know much about Uncle, now that I think about it…

  Once he finished a series of push-ups, Rust walked over to Faust, grabbed him by the shoulder, and forced the exhausted youth back to his feet.

  “You can’t waste time,” Rust said. “If you aren’t going to run, then do something else. You need to train.”

  “But…” Faust attempted to retort, but in the end, he just fell silent.

  He was hungry. Training without eating was too tiring, and his stomach was growling, but he had to wait at least two more hours until the communal food distribution opened.

  Too tired to run, Faust settled for push-ups. With much strain and forcing his body to its utmost limit, he reached an impossible number: three.

  His noodle-like arms were already tired, but they quickly regained a bit of strength, allowing him to repeat the exercise. Whenever his form was wrong, his uncle corrected his posture, so he quickly got the hang of it.

  Luckily, they lived inside a forest.

  Mana was something most people knew about, and a short phrase defined its essence—a phrase just as well-known as the word "mana" itself:

  “Mana is life. Life is mana.”

  Inside a forest, the concentration of mana was so thick that even those who could not use it directly benefited. After all, everyone had mana, at least anyone alive. That was common knowledge.

  Even if someone could not wield mana to create attacks or magical effects, they still possessed it deep within their being. That was why even the untalented, if they knew a method or were taught, could learn to use it.

  Because of the passive mana in the ambient air, everyone in the village enjoyed the boon of recovering slightly faster than they otherwise would. Though the difference was barely palpable, it could make a difference in moments of great exertion, such as this training.

  For the whole day, Faust trained his body alongside his uncle, stopping only twice to eat, at midday and night. Even with the moon already in the sky, the two of them kept training.

  Faust wasn’t sure why he was doing this since he would die in the dungeon anyway, but complying was easier than arguing… though arguing might have been easier than this infernal training.

  …

  Days passed at such a slow, grueling pace that Faust could barely do anything else but push his body to its utmost limit. After the first day, he had thought about complaining. But then, something shifted, and he didn't.

  Ignoring the pain of working out to his limit, he kept pushing, damaging muscles that were recovered in a single day thanks to the ambient mana. Just like that, he was able to diversify his training.

  On the third day, his uncle had somehow gotten him a weapon: a poor woodcutter’s axe. It was a bit heavy, but that was precisely why his uncle had chosen it. According to him, it was easier to use than a sword and would train his strength simultaneously. Swords were more adaptable, but Faust lacked the core foundation to wield one effectively.

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  Overall, an axe was easier to get used to—swing down with force, hit the target, and usually achieve a kill. But killing… Faust tried not to think much about it. He wanted to take his own life, but taking another's, even an animal's or another creature's, felt like too much.

  Focusing purely on the training—running to exhaustion, doing the maximum number of push-ups and pull-ups, core exercises like planks and curl-ups, and swinging the axe at least five hundred times a day—he felt his body growing slightly stronger.

  The fourth and fifth days passed in the same manner, until they reached the sixth day: the day before leaving the village.

  The sun hung high in the sky, covering the entire village, which by then was silent and moody. Many had already left, more would leave that day, and lots would leave tomorrow. Tomorrow… the day to clear the dungeon.

  Faust felt a strange mix of emotions but did his best to ignore them. Sunlight reflected off his pale skin; he had gained enough weight to hide his bones at least. His muscles were small but defined. Both his hands were full of calluses from swinging the axe so much.

  He was lost in thought, swinging the axe. It had been surprisingly… fun. Not fun enough to change his mind about ending his life, but at least enough to let him enjoy his final days.

  Suddenly, his uncle called his name, interrupting his flow of motion.

  “That’s enough, let’s eat.” His voice was firm, just like his body. He had managed to regain a significant amount of muscle in just one week, and his flow with the sword had improved too.

  Inhaling deeply, Faust asked:

  “Is it already time to eat?”

  Rust nodded in response. “But that’s not all. Since this is the last day we’ll be spending in the village, I want to show you something.”

  “Sure,” Faust responded plainly.

  The two of them placed their weapons on their belts, washed briefly using water from a wooden tub, and put their shirts back on. Walking through the surprisingly empty village, they reached the communal area, gathered their food, and ate quickly.

  Once they were done, Rust said to Faust, “Let’s take a walk. It’s too soon to go there; let’s waste a bit of time.”

  Wasn’t it you who said we couldn’t waste time?

  Contradicting his own thoughts, Faust nodded weakly, and they strolled around. The streets were empty and mostly devoid of people. Even if not all had left, many were hiding inside their houses—though if a Monster's Rise were to happen, which it wouldn't for a few months at least, hiding behind wood wouldn’t be the best choice.

  Faust noted this with a grim expression. These people seemed quite stupid at times, but whatever. It was none of his business whether they lived or died.

  Eventually, night began to descend upon the village, the sun slowly giving way to its grayish friend and its thousands of glistening companions.

  Rust had no problem walking during the night, just like Faust; he wasn't someone who paid much attention to religion. Though in his case, he still followed some of the teachings… or at least he thought he did.

  Stealing a glance at Faust, Rust said in a peaceful voice:

  “Hey,” he paused, “Let’s go to the mound…”

  The mound… the place where he had tried to kill himself just a few days earlier. He hadn't gone back since; it felt too strange. Visiting a place like that was definitely weird.

  But once again, he didn’t resist and simply complied, following his uncle.

  When they reached the base of the mound, Rust stopped before climbing. He took a deep breath, pulled back his hair in an attempt to make it more presentable, and brushed off his clothes.

  “Alright,” he said, going up the mound.

  Faust didn’t follow immediately; he hesitated and clutched his arm.

  Noticing this with a stealthy stare, Rust said, “Come, or you won’t see it.”

  Sighing, Faust tried to relax.

  Whatever.

  He forced himself to obey his uncle and climbed the mound. Up there, the traces of his attempted suicide were still visible. At the time, he had failed to notice it perfectly, but sweeping the scene now made the reason for his failure very clear.

  Not only was the rope too thin, but the fall was also too short. His planning had been half-assed; he hadn’t known how hard it was to actually die. If the rope had been more resistant and long enough to allow pressure to build before transferring to his neck and breaking it, he would be dead.

  Unlucky… he thought, touching his neck.

  Rust noticed the traces too but said nothing about them. He was not a man of many words; perhaps that ran in the family.

  Sitting down under the tree, Rust motioned for Faust to do the same.

  With both seated under the almost leafless tree, Rust reached for a waterskin at his waist and took a drink.

  “You know,” he said suddenly, “at some point, I thought of doing the same as you, after I lost…” He cleared his throat; the topic was still too difficult to talk about. “What I’m trying to say is, dying is not the solution. While we’re alive, we can still try things…”

  “But there’s nothing I want to try,” Faust idly answered. “Life is just… too meaningless.”

  “Look, nephew.” Rust’s voice took a wistful tone. “We, both you and me and every other person in this village besides the leader, are weak people. We are not only weak, we are small as well. Barely significant to the world…”

  Is he trying to make me change my mind or convince me I was right…?

  “But even if we are weak and small, we are still alive. There’s a reason for that, don’t you think?”

  “What reason is that?”

  “I don’t know, but there is one. Maybe to spite this world, maybe because the Gods will it, sometimes it's just luck or fate. I wish I could give you a clear or definitive answer. But… I can’t. Everyone has different reasons. I have mine, and you still haven’t found yours.”

  “What if I have no reason?” Faust looked down at the grass, the cold wind caressing his hair. “Maybe not everyone has one. I could be one of those people.”

  “I don’t believe that. Everyone has a reason; otherwise, why would you have been born? We are small people; our reasons can be just as small. Maybe yours isn’t. Maybe it’s so grand you can’t see it from the foot of the mountain.”

  Faust touched the grass, pulling it out idly. “I don’t think so, but… I see what you’re saying.”

  Rust sighed; he was aware he wasn't the best with words. Taking one last sip from the waterskin, he offered it to Faust.

  “No… thanks,” he politely refused.

  “I didn’t allow you to deny it. Drink.”

  Faust hesitated for a moment but took the waterskin, smelling the strong scent of alcohol. He had never drank before; he had no money for it. How his uncle even managed to get alcohol puzzled him—he would sometimes disappear for the whole day and return with bunches of bottles, storing them in his room.

  He just never cared enough to investigate.

  Closing his eyes, he took a mouthful of alcohol. He expected something horrid and strong, but it was surprisingly sweet, with traces of apple and wild berries… then it turned sour, carrying an aftertaste of… he had no idea. Curious, he asked:

  “What is this?”

  “White wine. Did you like it? It’s my favorite.”

  “It’s…” Faust looked at the waterskin. “It’s decent.”

  “Good that you liked it,” Rust replied. “In any case, that’s not what we came here for.”

  “What is it?”

  “To pay our respects to those already gone.”

  “Oh…”

  “Close your eyes and repeat after me.” Rust continued calmly, his voice interlacing with Faust’s.

  “Goddess of the forest, let their bodies return to you.

  “Goddess of the mana, may their energies be yours once more.

  “Goddess of the sun, may your light shine bright upon their paths.

  “God of the dreams, disperse their nightmares and quiet their minds.

  “God of the time, allow their journey to proceed without hurry.

  “God of the death, guide them peacefully to their final destination.

  “May their beings remain under divine protection.”

  The two of them finished speaking the common chant known as the “Guide of the Afterlife,” a normal prayer repeated for those who have died. Beyond its religious aspects involving the six upper Gods, it was also seen as a sign of respect and honor, not necessarily invoking the Gods' grace.

  After they were done, they remained on the mound for a while, alone with their thoughts. Faust took a few more sips of the wine, while Rust appreciated the view. After over an hour had passed, Rust said in a soothing voice,

  “Let’s sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  Faust nodded in response, collecting his thoughts and descending the mound alongside his uncle. Once they reached the house, they immediately went to their rooms and attempted to rest. The group to attack the dungeon would depart tomorrow.