The nobility monopolizes the dungeons?  That’s…

A horrible imbalance of power is what it was.  Presumably, that meant they were pretty much the only ones getting levels and loot.  Given how strong high-level people could be in every game and story Milo had ever played or read, it would make the 1% vs 99% dynamic on Earth look like a joke by comparison.  

“Uh,” Milo said.  

Backlebutt seemed to be waiting for him to respond.  He had the distinct feeling this was some sort of test.  He decided the situation merited a Pause for Thought while he considered.  

Time slowed.  

Is honesty the best policy here?  If I try to pretend to be some foreign Altabarian noble, chances are I’ll eventually be found out, especially when I start meeting more people.  I might lose his trust.  

What’s the worst that can happen if I tell him the truth?  Or rather, a close approximation of the truth?  I seriously doubt he’ll try to kill me.  He’s dead without me.  And I’ve saved his life.  Twice, at least.  He doesn’t strike me as a douchebag, even if he is a noble.  He hugged me earlier!  I mean, he probably thought he was hugging a fellow noble, so he might feel betrayed once he learns I’m not, like he hugged a disgusting pig instead of a fellow citizen...

In short, Backlebutt might start looking down his nose at Milo if he learned he wasn’t some lord, but the chances of him getting immediately violent seemed negligible.  Milo could probably continue being forthright—his preferred mode—without undue negative consequences.  Maybe he could even change the man’s worldview with the True Power of Friendship or something.  

In the absolute worst case that the man turned out to be an irredeemable elitist asshat, Milo could just ditch him somewhere in the dungeon and wish him the best.  

Like, for instance, the exact spot they were sitting in now, surrounded by crocodiles.  

He knew what his response had to be.  Time reverted to its normal speed, and Milo cleared his throat.  

“Where I am from, there are no nobles.  There were, before.  A long time before.  But now we think everyone is the same, from the time we are...made.  No person is better than another person just because...just because.  Some do have more than others.  Some earn more, some start with more.  But everyone is made the same.  The same here.”  Milo pointed to his heart, hoping the symbolism translated.  “I am not a noble, but I am not less than a noble.  That is how it is, where I am from.  That is what I think.”  

Backlebutt looked at him searchingly.  “You (freely) (admit) you are not a noble, and yet you are here, in the Descent?”

Milo nodded.  He’d missed a couple of words there, but he sensed they weren’t crucial.  There had been several instances in their recent conversation where that was the case.  It wasn’t worth stopping the conversation every time.  

“Are you (aware) that your actions (constitute) (treason) where I am from?”  

When Milo looked at him blankly, he explained further.  

“That you could be killed as (punishment)?  That I could kill you, and no one could say I had done wrong?”

Milo felt a chill at the man’s words.  No one had ever verbally threatened his life before.  He was so calm about it, too, which made it all the more unsettling.  Doing his best to hide his discomfiture, he smirked at Backlebutt.  

“You could try.  I wouldn’t if I were you.”  He glanced meaningfully at the bundled textbook next to his knee before meeting Backlebutt’s gaze once more.  

Backlebutt considered him for a few moments, his expression betraying nothing.  

Abruptly, he broke into a wide grin before he tossed back his head and began to laugh.  Milo looked at him uncertainly.  

What, does he seriously think he could defeat me in a fight?  Maybe if he took me by surprise...or in my sleep.  Oh.  That was an uncomfortable thought.  Milo would have to sleep at some point.  Or do I?

He did have that skill option, Just One More Chapter, which could keep him awake.  He had the mana regeneration by now to put off sleep indefinitely.  He wasn’t sure how healthy that would be, though.  

Backlebutt was still laughing.  Milo watched him warily until the man finally tapered off and addressed him once more.  

“One day you will have to take me to this far land of yours,” he said.  “It sounds truly (wondrous).”  Then, after a slight pause, he clarified with “Very very nice and a little strange.”  He’d apparently realized that ‘wondrous’ was a new word for Milo.    

Milo stared at him in confusion until the pieces clicked.  

It had been a test.  Backlebutt wasn’t a noble either; or, at the very least, he wasn’t on the side of the nobles.  

“You are like me?  Not noble?” Milo asked, seeking confirmation.  

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Backlebutt nodded, grinning.  “You have (courage).  Some would say you are (stupid).  You would fight the nobility for the (right) to enter dungeons.  To grow stronger.  That is why I am here.”

“Is that why you were hurt when I found you?  You had to fight your way in?”

Backlebutt sobered at the question.  “I...it was not (supposed) to be a fight.  We were (pretending) to be nobles.  It is possible we (played) our (parts) poorly, but I think we were (betrayed).”

“We?  Betrayed?”  

“My (team), the people I was entering the Descent with.  I think someone who was supposed to help us instead betrayed us to the nobles.  I was the only one who made it.”

Milo understood now.  Betrayed.  

“I’m sorry.”  

Backlebutt nodded.  “They are all dead.  I was (stabbed), hurt, many times.  I did not think I would survive.  I don’t know how I did.”

“You had a potion in your hand when I found you, in the first room.  I gave it to you.”

He nodded again.  “I wondered.  The boon.  It can be any number of things.  The (elders) spoke of this.  The system must have chosen it for me, when I could not choose for myself.  You are a (decent) man, to save me when you could have taken it for yourself.”

Milo laughed.  “I never even thought of it.  I was afraid to enter the dungeon alone.”

“Why did you, then?”

What?  “I didn’t.  We entered together.”

“No.  Before.”

Oh.  “It was an accident.  There is no Descent where I am from.  I didn’t know what it was or how it worked and I...fell in.”  

He doesn’t need to know the full circumstances.  No one said I have to be 100% honest all the time.  

Backlebutt fixed him with an intense stare.  “And there was no one there to stop you?  You just fell in?  Oops?  Where was this?”

In retrospect, that may have been slightly thoughtless to say, despite it being the simple truth.  In front of him was a man who had lost his whole group trying to accomplish something Milo had stumbled blindly into with his dick.  

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know.  I was…”  Lost.  He didn’t know that word, though.  Marooned on a planet I’ve never heard of.  Ripped away from everything I’ve ever known.  “I didn’t know where I was.”  He shrugged lamely.  

Backlebutt looked at him skeptically.  “How could you not know?”

“That’s a very good question.  I...woke up in a strange place.  I don’t know how, or why.  I walked until I found a cave.  A cave made by man.  I went deep underground and I found the dungeon by accident.  I know it’s strange, but that’s what happened.”  

“You don’t know how you got there.”

“No, I went to sleep where I...sleep every time I sleep.  In my...place where I live.  When I woke up, I was in a strange place, outside, with lots of…” he mimed a tree in the air, and Backlebutt supplied him with the word.  “...lots of trees, and my hand was gone.  Like I said, I don’t know how or why.”

“If that’s (true), then how do you have so many (supplies)?  Things.  Food.”

“It was beside me when I slept.  It was beside me when I woke.”  He shrugged again.  

Backlebutt’s brow furrowed.  “And you (swear) you don’t know how or why?”

“How do you describe the class and the skills that use much mana?”

“(Mage)?  (Magic)?”

With the help of Polyglot, Milo easily guessed which of the two words he wanted.  “I think it was magic.  That is all I can think.”  He shrugged once more, helplessly.  His shoulders were getting a workout in this conversation.  

“Can you describe what the land around you was like, at least?”

“I can try.  The ground was...not high, not low.  Lots of trees, many together.”

“A (forest), on (flat) ground.  What did the trees look like?”

“Tall, very tall.  Straight.  Big.  Not dark.  Opposite of dark.  The color of their…” he waved fingers in an imaginary breeze.”

“(Leaves).  And (light), or maybe (white) ”

“The color of their leaves was…”  He pulled up his top shirt, which was a deep heathered purple, to reveal a handily lime green one underneath.  “...this color.  And the leaves were like…”  He held up a finger before dredging up his Soylent bottle with the feathers.  He found a small rock and used it to spread the individual fibers of the feather apart.  “Like this.”

“Ah.  (Needles).  Very good.  Why—nevermind.  From your description, I think I know the exact trees you speak of.  They grow within maybe (twenty) or so (leagues) of the (ocean) in some (lands), though that still leaves a (vast) (amount) of (space) to search if someone were to go looking.  Interesting…”

While Backlebutt mused to himself, Milo, who finally had a moment to reflect on the conversation, realized much too late that he was giving the man a lot of information that, if he was lying and turned out to be dyed-in-the-wool noble after all, could be problematic.  He kicked himself for being a people-pleasing idiot.  I think I’m maybe way too trusting for this world.  

It was time to head the conversation back in the direction that he wanted.  

“Backlebutt.  How does someone get the mage class?”

“Hm?  Mage?” he snorted derisively.  “They don’t, if they want to live.”

Milo felt a little offended by the dismissiveness the man displayed.  “You think mage isn’t a good class?”

“Mage skills are (flashy) and very (expensive).  They can do a lot of damage and some mages even have (barrier) skills to protect themselves—until they run out of mana.  Once they do, it’s over.  They have to (invest) so much in mana that they have weak (constitutions), weak bodies.”

“What, so all mages die?  You have never heard of a—” successful “—mage who did well?”

“There are exceptions, of course,” Backlebutt admitted.  “But I still think there are much better options.”

“For a scribe with one hand?  I need to fuse into a fighting class.  Is there a better option for me?”  He waved his handless stump at Backlebutt, driving the point home.  “How can I get a mage class option?”

Backlebutt sighed.  “I suppose you’re right.  I’m not sure if scribe will fuse with mage, but from what I know there are two ways to get the mage option.  One is to (study) magic, perhaps from another mage or a (book).  That is for those who want to start with a mage class, or be a (pure) mage.  The other option is simply to use a (thousand) mana.  

“A what mana?”