"Do you really think there's any answer to that question which isn't me laughing hysterically?"

"Little man, you have an offensive and a defensive Skill equivalent to being a Level 40. This Dungeon is rated for 20-30. What's your worry?"

"My worry!" Lowe's voice trembled with a hint of hysteria. "This is a Heroic Raid Dungeon. I'm a Classless Level 20. Does any part of that sound like I'm remotely prepared to face a Boss alone?"

"Faint heart never won, fair lady."

"We're throwing aphorisms around now, are we? What about many hands make light work?"

"Too many cooks spoil the broth."

"How about the can go fuck himself with a pole wrapped in barbed wire? I always like that one. Apt."

They glared at each other for a few moments, and then Latham grinned. Lowe didn't think that smile boded well for his immediate future. "Here's how this is going to go, Little man. By my calculations, you should just about hit Level 24 when we get out of here. I miscalculated the XP penalty for having me in your party, so you're not going to reach the necessary level to access the Temple. No Level 25. No Setort. No answers as to what is going on."

"Fine. So we come back tomorrow and run another one."

Latham shook his head. "Nope. I burned bridges getting access today. There's no chance any , let alone Ros, will let us anywhere near a console for at least a week. If you solo this Boss, you will absolutely cross the necessary threshold. So, that's the situation. Your move."

"Well, isn't that convenient? Almost sounds like you might be lying."

"You're deductive powers are truly a wonder to behold. The killer of Gianna d'Avec should be quaking in their boots."

"Cute."

"Funnily enough, I don't hear that very often."

"Can't imagine why, you smug fucker."

Lowe ran his hands through his hair. The whole point of this Dungeon Dive was so that he could get his hands around Setort's throat. His mind flashed again to those pictures of Arebella; the Priest stood just at the edge of the image, providing the necessary anchor power for . . . someone to overcome the dead zone and take the picture. There were layers here, and the key to being able to start unwrapping them would be putting that against the wall and asking him some fairly searching questions.

"Seriously. This is the only way?"

Latham nodded. "If it is worth anything, I didn't mean for it to happen this way. Honestly, this isn't a big conspiracy. Maths just isn't really my thing."

"Okay, so I need to take the Boss down on my own. And you'll step in when, inevitably, I start getting stomped?"

"Ah, about that." Latham was avoiding Lowe's eyes again. "I'm going to need to stay away from the final fight. To cross over Level 25, you'll need all the XP from the Boss. Me being here will just split the rewards."

"Awesome. So it's going to be me against a Heroic Raid Boss and no safety net?"

"See, and there was me thinking you were not going to get into the spirit of things."

*

To give Lowe any chance at all, the moment they stepped outside of the Safe Zone, Latham took care of any and all other combatants in the Dungeon. It appeared the big man might have been holding back on bringing the thunder.

As the last fell, Latham gave an ironic salute and exited the Dungeon. The forest of Iraklion suddenly sounded very quiet indeed.

Shouldering the red flag, Lowe made his way down the road, which very much screamed 'this way to your sudden and inevitable death." The timer in the corner of his vision continued to countdown, but he didn't pay it very much attention.

Either the final surviving bad guy in the woods would shortly be dead. Or he would be. There really wasn't any other way that this would play out.

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Lowe tried to channel some of Latham's confidence in him. If Rank 2 doubled the effectiveness of his Intelligence, then his Skills would have the equivalent power of being Level 40. Awesome. That should make all this a walk in the park, taking candy from a baby while not sweating at all. But he couldn't shake the feeling he was a Classless Level 20 in a Heroic Raid Dungeon.

He was fucked.

The first arrow took him in the shoulder, the second hitting just millimetres to the right. Fortunately, Roll with the Punches passively kicked in faster than Lowe's reaction time. Which was helpful. Especially as the third arrow took him in the throat.

"All alone, is it?" a jolly voice boomed from the woods with an oddly musical accent. "That's not going to work out too well for you, boyo."

The arrows popped free from Lowe's wounds as he rolled for cover. He had Grid View running and quickly tried to determine where the attack had come from. His extra mana meant he didn't need to worry about rationing its use any longer, and it gave him the equivalent of an eidetic memory, even for the things he didn't consciously see.

There. All three shots came from a patch of shadows just a little down the path.

"Don't suppose you fancy doing this in melee range, do you?"

The answer was another arrow, this one hitting him in his right hip. It came from about three feet closer. The Boss was closing in on him, trying to get the best angle for a killing shot.

"You may well be able to tank a headshot," Latham had told him when they'd been planning this attack, "but I wouldn't want to bet the house on it."

"Fraid not, boyo. Way I figure it, a Level 20 stupid enough to try to solo me must have some sort of wild trump card, eh? No. I'm happy wearing you down from range."

Lowe briefly felt satisfied that despite the agony the hits were causing, his health points were holding steady. Not entirely trusting Latham's fervour, he'd also loaded up on Mylaf's finest HP food and drink, but - so far - it did not seem like he needed the boost. He was shaking off the damage from the arrows thus far, but that didn't mean he wanted to keep getting shot.

"I'd heard this was an honourable Dungeon. Do you really want me telling people I needed to flush you out of the forest like a bitch?"

There was a bright flash, and then a giant arrow careened out from the trees in a golden streak to hit him right between the eyes.

Good news? Lowe could apparently take a headshot.

Bad news? Half of his HP had vanished, and something called Skill Suppression was now active on him.

He lay, flat on his back, arms stretched out in a crucifix position. Without Roll with the Punches functioning, there was no active healing running nor any repairs taking place to push the arrowhead lodged in his forehead out. He didn't appear to be taking any further ongoing damage, but without active skills, that was probably a moot point.

"That looks nasty, boyo."

A friendly-looking face appeared above him, grinning mischievously. The Boss's suntan was topped and tailed by short brown hair and a snazzy goatee. He was wearing green camouflage, with a few branches tucked into the cap on his head.

"Skill Suppression is a pain in the arse, isn't it? Well," the Boss continued, "a pain in the head, I imagine. You can call me the Hood."

Lowe tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Arrow to the prefrontal cortex was a deal, apparently.

"Not that you're going to be saying anything for long, I imagine, boyo. I don't know what you had planned or who put you up to trying to solo me, but it's fair to say it's all gone a bit wrong."

Lowe couldn't disagree. He was completely paralysed. Cheers, Latham. Another fine mess you've got me into.

The Hood vanished from his vision for a second and then reappeared holding a dagger. "Well, it's been emotional. Catch you on the flip side."

Lowe tried to push at both Roll with the Punches and Slugger, but whatever skill the Hood had landed on him resisted. He pushed harder as the dagger swept down towards his eye.

It was as if time slowed down as his end approached. But instead of seeing his life flash before him, it was just the legend Skill Suppression that dominated. As soon as the dagger made contact with him, that would be that.

He pushed again at his Skills. No joy. Although, did those words wobble slightly?

Having no other options, he threw everything he had at his Skills, trying to break the block. The words were definitely wobbling. The dagger was less than an inch from his eye now.

Unbidden, Arebella's face appeared. She'd be safe if he died, wouldn't she? They'd have no reason to hurt her if he wasn't around to solve the case. But then the realistic part of his mind kicked in. She knew about the threat. She wouldn't let it lie. She'd keep asking questions, and whoever visited him in the Tower of Law would doubtless find his way to her office.

If he died here, he was pretty much committing her to the same fate.

And then the words Skill Suppression weren't wobbling anymore; they were fracturing into tiny little pieces and the Hood's dagger was buried through his right eyeball to the hilt.

The Boss stood and dusted himself down. Odd chap, he thought. Fancy trying to solo him as a Level 20. He'd never heard anything like it. At the least, you needed eight men, including a tank and an off-tank, to avoid a wipe.

Something pinged into his shoulder. The Hood looked down at a bloodied arrowhead. That was odd. He turned around just in time for the appalling sight of a man with blood flowing from a terminal knife wound to his face, driving a red flag straight into his chest.

There were no more words. There was no more time. As the Hood's eyes rolled back in his head and the Dungeon reset, he just had time to think you learned something new every Dive.

The Dungeon collapsed around him.