The first battle that Dean had ever fought in as a soldier had occurred on the plains of the Ivory Coast. The demonic forces had opened an abyssal gate, attacking the port city of Terth. It had been almost exactly one year after the harvest festival massacre, and the state of the attack had been bad. Abyssal gates had opened in both the north-east and the South, hemming the western coastal city in. There had been no warning, no indication of what would happen, and the result had been bloody.

  Dean had been among the second wave of reinforcements to reach the city, and the sight had been one he’d never forgotten. Bodies. They had been strewn across the ground, bobbed in the foamy waves of the sea. The smell of death was so pungent it clung to his clothes for days after.

  He had been scared out of his mind back then. Eighteen years old and he’d never seen a battle. But his first had been one to remember.

  “Come on, lad,” Ripley had said, gripping his shoulder and looking him in the eyes. “Don’t go all green on me now. This is war, boy. Look long and look hard. Though it wears different skins through factions, races, and houses, it cannot change its face.”

  Dean could remember the way his hands trembled. The feeling of blood and grit staining his armor, soaking through the clothes beneath.

  “It’s…evil,” he’d whispered even as he stared around at the carnage. Captain Ripley’s face hadn’t wavered then, but Dean had seen something in the man that he hadn’t before. A deep and unending sadness.

  “Aye,” the man had said. “It is that. That’s why we can’t lose sight of the reason we fight. Look around you,” and he’d gestured past the battlefield. Past the mangled corpses and the blood-soaked ground towards the tree line in the distance. Among the trees, Dean could see people gathered there. Refugees who had fled the fighting and now looked on as the empire's reinforcements retook the city, clearing out the stain of the demons who had occupied it for a time. Ripley watched them, his eyes soft through the slits of his helmet.

  “Be it man, woman, or child, every being deserves a chance to experience the beauty of this life. It is for them that we fight. Not for ourselves. Not for the empire, or for personal gain. For them. If we stay our swords,” Ripley laid a gauntlet over Dean’s trembling hand, leaning forward until Dean looked up to meet his eyes.

  “If we stay our swords, then it is them who suffer. And so we choose to fight and suffer for them. That is every soldier's duty.”

  Those were the words that rang in Dean’s head as he charged towards the first kobold. The creatures were on watch, but they were unprepared for the speed and ferocity of his attack. Sprinting, Dean closed the distance to the enemy in a matter of seconds, swinging his sword with both hands. The blade cut through scales and bone, decapitating the Kobold as it turned towards him. Letting out a battle cry, Dean continued forward, slashing at the second.

  By now, the remaining Kobolds reacted quickly, shuffling backwards as they readied their weapons. Three now faced him, two with spears and the other wielding a curved, rusty sword. He could hear a shout from behind him, followed by the creak of a bow.

  It would appear his distraction had worked. Now he just had to hope he wasn’t about to get an arrow between the shoulder blades. There was no time to worry. Two Kobolds rushed him, whooping a strange bark-like war cry as they simultaneously thrust their spears. Dean parried one and dodged the others, backing away to get his footing.

  The kobolds moved forward, two keeping in front while the third darted around in an attempt to circle him.

  Just as I thought.

  Dean switched his stance to a defensive posture, moving sideways and putting his back to the stone wall. It was a risk, hemming himself in, but it was better than getting flanked by armed opponents.

  “Come on,” he growled. “You want my life? Come and take it.”

  The Kobolds circled him, and one of the spearmen bared its sharpened teeth. Dean readied himself and the second the creature attacked, he acted. The Kobold jabbed its spear for his chest and Dean stepped aside, flipping his blade and bringing the flat down on the center of the shaft. Like the other kobold spears, the wood was in poor condition. The half-rotted wood splintered, sending up a shower of wooden splinters. The kobold made a sound of surprise, but not before Dean’s sword bit into its shoulder. Blood splattered his blade, and Dean could have sworn he felt the sword pulse in delight as it cut halfway through its victim. The Kobold cried out, and Dean wrenched his sword free, intending to end it.

  But he had been too slow. The remaining kobolds rushed him, and Dean was forced to dance backwards to avoid their flurry of attacks.

  They're trying to rush me. Damn it, where is that rogue?

  Impact jarred Dean’s arms as he turned away from another sword strike. He tried to backpedal, only to find his back against the wall. There was nowhere left to run. That suited him just fine. Ducking, Dean felt the wind of the sword as it whistled over his head, a strike that would have cut open his throat if he hadn’t been quick enough.

  If you can’t strike at an enemy's body, strike at his foundation. Thanks, Captain Ripley, for all your lessons.

  Dean turned his dodge into a low stance, his feet shifting as he altered his weight for the offensive. His sword whistled through the air, shearing straight through the spear kobold's leg. The creature shrieked as the momentum from the blow, as well as the sudden loss of its limb, threw it off balance. Dean lunged forward, tucking his shoulder like a barbarian plains wrestler.

  His shoulder slammed into the kobold with enough force that the creature flew. It’s spear few from its hand as it landed on its back, and Dean could see the panic in its eyes. As it scrambled to draw a long knife from its belt.

  “Not a chance.”

  Dean dispatched the kobold with a quick thrust to the neck before its knife had a chance to clear its sheath. The kobold shuddered and then went still, its eyes dimming. Dean stood there for a moment, breathing hard. That was when he heard the shout.

  “Behind you!”

  Dean jerked, raising his sword as the remaining Kobold lunged towards him. In that moment, he had forgotten the threat and left his back wide open for attack. He spun, pivoting on the ball of his foot. It was too slow. The sword was going to cut him; the only question was how badly?

  A knife flipped through the air. It plunged itself into the forehead of the kobold, stopping the rushing creature in its tracks. The kobold wobbled for a moment. Then blood dribbled from its mouth, and it collapsed like a puppet with its string cut.

  “Not bad for a brute,” said the rogue. She strolled idly over, plucking the knife from the dead kobold's forehead like she was picking a flower. “I dare say you’d have been pretty poorly off If it weren’t for me, though. That last kobold had you dead to rights.”

  Dean grimaced.

  “I would have taken him.”

  The rogue rolled her eyes.

  “I don’t hear a thank you.”

  Dean glanced at the bridge. The tall golden doors were still shut, but the archer was nowhere to be seen.

  “Thanks,” he said, nodding around. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think we should loot and go our separate ways.”

  The rogue’s smile faded slightly, and Dean saw what he thought was the shadow of irritation flit across her face. But moments later, her features smoothed, and she nodded.

  “We should split. But first, we need to figure out how to get to the second level.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  “I think we both know that room and that creature is the goal. And I have a theory.”

  She tilted her head, and Dean sighed inwardly. She wasn’t going to give this information away lightly.

  “Fine,” he turned away to examine the kobolds' bodies, which he looted. A knife and a helmet in decent condition were all he could salvage.

  It’s not enough to buy my way onto a caravan, but it should be enough for supplies. I suppose there is always the chance the boss could have a drop worth something. Then again, loot is split between party members.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He tossed away the rusted sword and rose, knees cracking. When he turned, the room appeared empty. Where had she gone?

  “Yoo-hoo.” The sound was soft but carried through the room, and Dean squinted until he saw her silhouette at the far end of the room near the wall. When you’re done dumpster diving for scraps, I found something that might be of interest to you.”

  Dean crossed the room, eyeing the wall. He could see the rogue shadow along the cave floor, but when he looked in that direction, all he saw was rough-hewn stone.

  “What-“ he started to say. But that’s when his vision shifted. The cave wall vanished, instead revealing a passage way that tunneled down into the darkness. Dean blinked in surprise.

  “A hidden area?”

  The rogue was leaning against the side of the passage, a smirk on her face.

  “Looks like it. And you wouldn’t have noticed it if it weren’t for me, would you Mr. brute force?”

  Dean declined to answer, instead examining the cave. It was smaller than the others, but there was something coming from it. A sort of breeze that smelled almost sweet.

  “What do you think is down there?” he asked. “Another dead end?”

  The rogue shook her head, pushing off the wall as she stared into the darkness.

  “No, if it were something like that, they wouldn’t bother hiding it. That leaves only two options. Loot, which we can both take advantage of or…”

  “A way to the second level.”

  Dean nodded slowly as he flicked the blood from his blade. He could feel the sword humming slightly, delighting in the slaughter. It pulsed with gentle energy in his hand, hungry for more. Still, looking into that cave, he could only feel trepidation.

  “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out. The great Dean Thompson afraid of the dark? Who’d have thought?”

  Dean snorted.

  “It’s not the dark I’m wary of. It’s the nasty shit that tends to live in it.”

  But it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Time was ticking, and by his count, he had only an hour and change left to help his friends defeat the boss and clear this dungeon. He couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.

  “Come on.”

  He strode past her, and the rogue made an amused sound in her throat before following close behind. This cave was on a different scale than the others. It was tall but narrow at the sides, shaped almost like a tear in the wall. And what was more, the floor was sticky. Dean produced his torch from his inventory, holding it high as he examined the ground. Whatever was growing there had clung to the moss, layering it in a strange translucent pattern.

  “Mind your step,” he muttered as the rogue nearly trod in a pile of goop. “Whatever this is, it’s everywhere.”

  “Agh,” she said, only narrowly avoiding it. “Did I mention I absolutely hate dungeons?”

  The dancing flame of Dean’s torch sputtered slightly, and he realized that the minor spell sustaining it would likely die soon. He still had his crystal, but he was loathed to return to the dimmer light at a time like this. If he were lucky, he might be able to get another five minutes of the thing.

  “Slow down,” hissed the rogue, practically jogging to keep up with his long strides.

  “It’s hardly a race, you know.”

  When Dean gave her a look, she rolled her eyes.

  “Well, it is, sort of. But go easy on a her, hmm?”

  In the torchlight light he could see a sheen of sweat on her forehead and brow, and though she tried to hide it, her pain was evident.

  “Do you need to stop and rest?”

  The rogue glanced away, cheeks flushing. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Dean stopped dead, the sudden halt nearly causing her to crash into him.

  “If you want any chance at surviving in here, then you need to be combat-ready. That means taking the time to attend to any wounds and vulnerabilities you may have. Being vulnerable in battle will only get you and those you care about killed.”

  “In battle?” she laughed. “And what would a kid like you know about battle?”

  Dean shrugged and turned away.

  “Enough.”

  There was a pause, then the rogue let out a sigh.

  “Fine,” she said. “We take a short water break, and I’ll use some of my minor restoration potion. Satisfied?”

  “I’ll keep watch. If anything is going to come at us, it will do so from that direction,” he pointed off into the darkness. “After that, as I said, you’re on your own.”

  “How noble.”

  She shuffled over to the boulder Dean gestured to, sitting down and unhooking her pack. The metal clasps clicked, and Dean heard the sound of glass bottles as she dug. She removed a dark magenta potion that seemed to glow with its own light.

  “A shame to waste it. Ah, well nothing to do about it now.”

  “No.”

  Dean unhooked his own canteen from his belt, running a thumb along the rim. After a moment, he uncapped it and raised it to his lips. The rogue replaced the half-empty potion in her pack, her face twisting.

  “Why don’t the alchemists do something about that taste?” She shook her head as she uncapped her own canteen and took a long, deep swig. Dean waited until she’d taken several gulps before he finally spoke into the ensuing silence.

  “Nine one two.” He said, turning to face her. The rogue gave him an odd look.

  “What?”

  “That was the number they assigned me at boot camp. You wanted to know why I talked about battle? Well, there’s your answer. I’ve seen more battles than you could possibly imagine.”

  The rogue’s face was incredulous.

  “What battles? We’ve been in a state of peace with the elves for decades now. What are you-“ she paused, her mouth working slightly. “Uh, sorry.” She cleared her throat.

  Dean smiled.

  “Every soldier has an identification number. It’s how they recognize us on the battlefield so that we can receive a proper burial under the god or goddess we chose to worship. Funny, it’s also a way to identify things. See, I have a habit of etching the number into everything I own. My knife handle, my boots, even my canteen.”

  The rogue’s eyes snapped to his, and he saw panic flare in them, and she stared down at the canteen she had just drank from. Along the rim of the neck, the numbers nine one, two were etched there, scratched by the tip of his knife.

  “No,” she breathed, trying to lurch to her feet. But she swayed, throwing a hand out against the boulder to steady herself. “No what did you..”

  Dean’s expression went cold.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you try to spike my drink when you fell against me in the tunnels? Please, I’ve been in enough red light districts to have seen that old trick a million times. So tell me, what was it you were going to give me? Was it poison?”

  The rogue gagged, her hand flying to her throat as her face began to turn red.

  “Not poison,” she hissed, as she began to tremble. “It’s a…a…” Her throat was closing up, and she coughed, her body going rigid. Dean crossed to her casually, his sword still in his hand. He was in no hurry now. If he wanted to kill her, doing so would be simple.

  “You bastard.” She snarled as she slumped to the ground.

  “Ah, I see.” He said, staring down at her at his boots. “A sedative. And by the looks of it, its properties are paralytic. That is unfortunate, given where you find yourself.”

  And for the first time, Dean raised the torch high over his head. For a moment, the rogue only stared up at him, confusion and anger warring in her eyes. Then those eyes widened, and he saw what he was looking for for the first time. Fear.

  “That’s right,” said Dean calmly, gesturing overhead with his sword. “This may be both of our first times in a dungeon, but you should recognize what you’re looking at.” He glanced up, and saw them hanging from the ceiling. There were nearly half a dozen of them, and each was the size of an animal or person.

  “Cocoons,” he said, his voice echoing. “Tell me, what kind of subterranean monster makes silk cocoons of its victims?”

  The rogue’s face drained of blood. Her lips began to tremble as she tried to form the words.

  “Sp…spider.”

  Dean squatted down, his cold gaze piercing her. Dean had never been needlessly cruel. But he had no tolerance or pity for those who exploited others for their own gain. For them, he’d show no mercy.

  “That’s right. Cave spiders in particular have a penchant for playing with their victims. They don’t kill right away. Instead, they prefer to preserve their meal for when they are next hungry. I’ve heard it can take hours. Sometimes, it takes days for cave spiders to plan their next meal. All the while, their victim stays paralyzed. Completely aware of their fate.”

  Tears welled in the rogues eyes and spilled over.

  “Please,” she whispered, lips trembling. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Leave you to the fate you’d have condemned me to?”

  He snorted and shook his head.

  “You really do have some nerve. But you’re right, I’m not entirely heartless. If you tell me what I want to know, then I might consider helping you. Might, mind you. It depends how good your intel is.”

  The woman’s throat bobbed.

  “Can’t… can’t say. He’ll ruin me.”

  Dean rose from his crouch as a soft scuffling sound in the distance started. His mana sense flared, making him aware of a dim distance presence.

  “Your choice.”

  He turned to go. In the distance, the scuffling grew steadily louder. It was an odd sound, like multiple legs scratching against stone.

  “W-wait,” said the rogue suddenly. “Please, I’ll tell…” she wheezed as she tried to get air through her swollen throat. “I’ll tell you. Just don’t leave me.”

  Dean paused, his back still to her.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “The man who hired me. He’s a noble. Came to me when our party leader failed out of the first exam. He said,” She coughed again, her lips trembling. “He said If I helped him, he could guarantee I earn my badge. It wasn’t personal I… I needed.. needed this. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked.”

  Dean’s eyes narrowed.

  “You were the rogue in Matteo’s party, weren’t you?”

  Her tears spilled over, but she was unable to do more than blink them away.

  “That Moron’s stunt got us all blacklisted from other guilds. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be an outcast? The thousand knives threw us out like we were… were nothing. I was going to lose everything. I-I had no other choice here.”

  “The name,” Dean growled. “I don’t give a damn about your reasons. Tell me who ordered this. What the hell did they want with me?”

  Her throat bobbed.

  “It was Maxim Cole. He told me that he just wanted you to fail the exam. Wanted to prevent…” She tried and failed to move. “To prevent you from becoming an Adventurer.”

  Maxim Cole? Dean felt a thrill of anger at the name.

  So that had been who Draken had tried to warn him about.

  “There’s something you should know,” the Bronze Ranker had said, his eyes gleaming. “I’ve been suspecting for some time that someone is trying to sabotage your attempts at ascending.”

  “Who?” The intensity in Dean’s gaze had caused Draken to laugh.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you, believe me. But it’s not quite so simple. Whoever it is has resources and experience enough to cover their tracks. I’d be careful if I were you, especially during the final exam. Trust no one, even the proctors.”

  “Please,” the words snapped him back to reality. “P-please don’t leave me here. Dean I..”

  Dean let out a breath, craning his head back and closing his eyes. He could leave her here. Maybe he should. After all, wouldn’t she have done the same to him, given the chance. But Dean wasn’t her, and he wasn’t Maxim Cole either.

  Reaching down, he snagged her by the back of her cloak and began dragging her back down the passageway away from the scuffling and the pair of fist-sized eyes now watching him from a hole in the wall.

  It would seem the spider wouldn’t get its meal today.