The three dwarves conferred quietly and soon agreed. The dwarves' party gained a new member.

  Jeremy told them he wanted to look around some more, in case he'd missed a secret passageway or something, and left.

  Fint and Jeremy faced off in a deserted passageway. That is, Jeremy could feel Flint glaring at him from behind.

  “We're leaving,” Flint said, glaring down at the back of Jeremy's head.

  “I really wish you'd show yourself, Flint,” Jeremy said. “This is stupid.”

  “What's stupid is your quest for revenge. We are leaving. And when I say leaving, I mean we are leaving this dungeon right now.”

  Jeremy felt Flint's arms around him as Flint lifted him into the air. This was what Jeremy had feared. “I see.” Then he realized something and started laughing.

  “What's so funny?”

  “If you could have broken our bond and left, you'd have done so. Your strength comes from me, and I am still in charge. Perhaps that's why you won't show yourself. Put me down, Flint. We leave this dungeon when I'm strong, and not before.”

  Flint's arms tightened around Jeremy's chest, forcing the air from his lungs. Their two minds clashed, and Jeremy almost understood what Flint was... It wasn't what he'd thought...

  Flint hurled Jeremy against a passageway wall and stormed off in a wave of icy fury.

  “Ow.”

  After Flint left, Jeremy stood up. He supposed that could have gone worse.

  “You still like me, don't you, Squeak?”

  “Squeak!” Squeak hid beneath Jeremy's clothes, waiting for permission to come out.

  “You need to stay hidden when the dwarves are around. Your presence would raise questions I'd rather not answer. Such as my patron god, Arkys, and my quest for revenge, plus the dwarves might get upset if they learn I'm a fortieth-level assassin.”

  “Squeak!” Squeak didn't mind. With Jeremy's permission, Squeak began absorbing Jeremy's life force to regain its former strength.

  Time to drop by the lich, sub-boss, Dominas's lair.

  Since the dwarves had recently killed the gray-cloaked lich and its undead servants, Dominas's lair was empty. But next to a large chair he suspected was the lich's throne, he found a wall panel that opened to reveal a small chest. He cautiously removed the chest and opened it.

  There was a note.

  Congratulations on completing my impossible quest. I regret I can't give you this in person and then try to kill you as I intended. I hope you understand, work demands and all that. Best of luck in your future endeavors.

  Dominas

  Inside the chest was a bone whistle the size of his pinky.

  Enshikig's Whistle of Death. God tier.

  Summon a powerful undead army. One-time use.

  Wow! A powerful undead army could really come in handy.

  He rejoined the dwarves and told them he had found nothing. The dwarves had no food, but they had a portable magic fire that produced real heat and the illusion of flames. It had the added benefit of no smoke that he always encountered from real campfires. Their music, unlike the kobolds', had a pleasant melody, perhaps a cross between the classical music his mother listened to and folk songs. Many of the songs felt sad. Jeremy asked about one.

  “Was that song based on a true story?”

  “An ancient legend,” Thorg said. He looked upward, deep in thought. “Brock Stonecrusher entered a dungeon and fought a party of powerful orc adventurers. The battle went on for days before the orcs wounded Brock and gained the upper hand. Knowing he was about to die, Brock turned and ran. But this was not an act of cowardice, like the orcs believed. Brock ran into a monster lair and threw himself into the creature's mouth. He could have defeated the monster, but he let it kill him instead.”

  “Why'd he do that?” Jeremy asked.

  “If the orcs had killed Brock, they'd have gained experience and levels, not to mention valuable items from the wealthy hero. But because Brock gave his life to the dungeon, the dungeon got everything, and the orcs got nothing. As you can imagine, the orcs were upset. While they defeated the hero, they gained nothing for their efforts, making it a hollow victory.”

  “A sad story,” Jeremy said.

  “So many stories are,” Thorg spat into the fake fire. “Cursed Lord of the Clowns.”

  “You met Clown Lo—uh, the Lord of the Clowns from the first floor?” Jeremy asked.

  “Unfortunately. There were five of us back then: us three, a healer, and a fire specialist wizard. We were fighting monster clowns and doing well. Nothing on the first floor had posed a challenge, and we were getting overconfident. When that filthy monster came out of nowhere. Killed Bront and Thomp with one swing of its axe. We fought back and wounded it; it ran, leaving a trail of green blood. We chased it to a creepy, dark room full of traps, mirrors, and gods know what.” Thorg took a deep breath and sighed, staring at the fire. “The most dangerous monsters in any dungeon are the ones that know when to run. And we'd lost our support. So we withdrew.”

  “I'm sorry,” Jeremy said. When Clown Lord hadn't been trying to kill and eat him, the monster had been a friend and mentor. It was difficult to think about the adventures the being had killed. “The Lord of the Clowns is a smart, terrifying monster.”

  “But you survived. Is that what killed your friend?”

  “No. Other adventurers killed my friend,” Jeremy responded. “I encountered the Lord of the Clowns getting away from the adventurers. I ran away and hid. Both times.” Memories of his time on the first floor, being alone, lost, and afraid, went through him. “I never wanted to be an adventurer; someone pushed me through the portal.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  A large, calloused hand touched his shoulder. “Sorry.”

  Flint cleared his throat behind him. “As you know, Jeremy, adventurers are unreliable at best. Don't come crying to me if these dwarves kill you.”

  ***

  Jeremy awoke the next morning to see Thorg, looking slightly smaller without his armor, settled into a deep combat stance. “You have a combat discipline?”

  “Yes. Way of the Sliding Stone,” the dwarf responded, not looking around.

  “I have one too. Way of the Sand Monarch.”

  “I haven't heard of that style. What rank?”

  “Mid Journeyman,” Jeremy answered.

  “Impressive. I'm a Low Master. Perhaps a friendly spar?”

  “Sure,” Jeremy responded, wondering how best to spar without revealing his full strength. Lightning and or fireball would be hard to explain with his current stats. Not to mention it might hurt the dwarf.

  Jeremy performed a few warm-up exercises, and they left their safe room for the empty passageway.

  “Even with a friendly spar, it's too easy to get evicted from the safe room,” Thorg said, facing him in the passageway. “Show me what you've got. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.” The dwarf settled into a stance and became as motionless as a statue.

  Jeremy supposed he would have to make the first move. He approached. The larger dwarf smoothly turned to face him as he circled. He made several feints to draw Thorg out and failed, so he threw a punch to test Thorg's guard. Thorg moved imperceptibly to block, and it felt like he'd punched a stone wall.

  “Come on, Jeremy, show me what you've got.”

  Jeremy threw another punch, then a combination of punches and kicks, all of which the dwarf evaded or blocked with little effort. He fired off several high punches and kicks, then kicked the dwarf's leg. It was like kicking a brick wall. He kicked again with his other leg, with the same result. He could feel the dwarf's amusement.

  “That was a decent kick,” Thorg said. “Try again?” He raised his arms, leaving himself open.

  Jeremy kicked again, this time giving it everything he had. Instead of blocking the kick, Thorg sank lower and grabbed Jeremy's leg, using it to pick the boy up and slam him to the ground, pinning him. Jeremy grappled with the dwarf, fighting to twist free of the dwarf's hold. Muscles straining with the effort, he'd almost freed himself when, with an audible crack, his arm broke.

  Thorg released him. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine,” Jeremy snarled and stormed off. With his pain resistance, he barely felt the broken arm, but his pride was badly wounded. His mind went over the fight. The dwarf fighter was skilled, but Jeremy should be comparable. He'd thought that if he fought Thorg with his full strength, he'd easily defeat him. Now he wasn't so sure. His fire and lightning and new mental attack might hurt the dwarf, but would it stop him? Jeremy was part dragon, for God's sake! How could his arm have snapped like that?

  “You're part infant dragon,” Flint said from behind him. “But don't worry, I'm sure Mezirma's party is far weaker than these dwarves and will drop dead as soon as you look at them. Come on, Jeremy! You are still weak! If you want any help from me, you will give up this ridiculous revenge quest!”

  “Go away, Flint.”

  Taking his last gold healing potion would raise questions from the dwarves. If he did nothing, his arm would heal in a few days.

  He pulled on his broken arm, resetting the bone, using cord and a few thick pieces of leather for a splint. After enduring so many worse things, setting a broken bone was trivial.

  He heard Thorg's footsteps before the dwarf came into view. “I want to make it clear, I did not break your arm; you broke your arm trying to escape my hold.” Thorg held out a standard healing potion. “This should speed up your healing. We're not rolling in healing potions, so this is all you get.”

  Memories of his friend on the first floor and her generosity went through his mind. “Keep your potion. We need to spar again when I'm healed. I won't go easy on you next time.”

  Thorg put his potion away. “Jeremy, you are strong and fast, but if you fight like a fighter, you will lose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A rogue evades, runs away, sneaks behind people, and stabs them in the back.”

  Jeremy said nothing.

  “If Banxi showed up right now and kicked us out of the fifth floor, you'd be facing unknown adversaries with one arm. In the dungeon, mistakes get you killed. If you want to join my party, we need to fight as a team. If you run off and do your own thing, you're a liability, and I'll kick you out.”

  Jeremy sighed. “I've been on my own for a long time. What does your dwarf party want from me?”

  ***

  The three dwarves and Jeremy stood in a hallway.

  “Are you sure you'll be okay with that arm?” Tassi asked, looking concerned.

  “I'm fine,” Jeremy responded. “It'll be usable in a few days.”

  Thorg handed Jeremy a mask. “Keep your masks with you at all times,” he said to the group. “Put them on if you even suspect plant life is nearby. The sixth-floor plants put out invisible spores that can make you hallucinate. Jeremy, you are our rogue; you will stay between the three of us while keeping watch for traps and monsters. I will send you to scout ahead, but you must stay close. I don't want to be running after you if you get into trouble. Got it?”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said.

  “Good,” Thorg led them into another passageway. “Pretend we just arrived on the sixth floor.” Jeremy stood between the three dwarves. Thorg was in front, and the other two were a few paces behind.

  “Three traps ahead,” Jeremy called out.

  “Just three?”

  “Yes. One of them looks like nine separate traps, but they're connected to go off at the same time. These are all holding traps. Non-lethal.”

  “For the sake of this exercise, we will pretend the traps are lethal. Rogue. Guide us through them.” Thorg stepped forward.

  “No problem. Stop there. Jump over the next five tiles. Step two paces. Jump or step over the next three tiles, then move to the edge of the passageway. The third trap will go off if you get within two paces of it. After that, you're in the clear.”

  “Good work, Rogue. Now the rest of you.”

  Jeremy and the two dwarves stepped where Thorg had without incident. “So what are these traps? I assume you brought them with you.”

  “We bought them from a novelty gag shop on our world.” Thorg reached down and whispered, “disarm,” in dwarven and picked up the traps. They turned into three tennis ball-sized lumps of putty. “They're easy to use. The owner needs to toss them down and say 'activate' in Dwarven. Why don't you take these, Jeremy?” he tossed them to Jeremy, who caught them smoothly with his one arm.

  They were magical constructs made for a singular purpose. Jeremy tossed them and said, “shtok,” the dwarf word for activate. He could feel them change into traps that would grab the unwary. Now that he knew how they worked, it would be trivial to interact with their mana to deactivate them.

  “These traps should be more useful to a rogue. They're useless against stronger monsters, but might serve as a distraction. Now, Rogue, scout that side passageway. Be careful and stay close; I don't want to be rescuing you.”

  “No problem,” Jeremy deactivated the traps, activated concealment, stepped forward, and soon returned. “I saw the drawing on the wall—I mean, a winged monster about twice the size of a dwarf.”

  “Anything else?”

  “That's it.”

  “Good work, Rogue. Sounds like a wyrvin. What should we do?”

  “You're fighters, go fight it,” Jeremy responded.

  “Fight it how?” Thorg asked.

  “For a flying monster, we use bows and arrows,” Tassi said with a yawn. “Brosh and I shoot, Thorg blocks its attacks and protects us if it gets close. Rogue stays behind us and watches for anything unexpected.” Tessi and Brosh produced bows taller than themselves.

  “Good. Now we see plants.”

  Jeremy put on his face mask with the others while eyeing his stat sheet. It occurred to him he had skills he didn't know how to use; fine for now, but it would be a good idea to practice before he needed them.

  He felt the tingling of someone casting a finding spell. He pulled off his mask. “Guys, adventurers are coming.”