Aster raced down the mountain and charged toward the town, shaking slime goo off his hammer. It splattered over the trees around him, hissing where it ate into their bark. He grimaced, shaking his head at the residue. I hate slimes. I truly do.

Racing down the mountain, he was forced to stop at the bottom, out of breath and exhausted. Aster stood, wiping his brow. Running a dungeon thrice in one day, then doing a mountain at a run… even if it’s downhill, that takes a lot out of a man. Phew. Thankfully, Stella’s dungeon is relatively shallow, and the boss monsters don’t attack me anymore.

I wonder if that’s because Stella told them not to, or if they’re simply afraid of me? Either way, I’d appreciate it if the slimes would stop attacking, too. Do they understand how annoying they are to clean off my weapons?

Aster shook his head at the slimes, then stretched and set off at a light jog this time. Rather than run into town at a sprint and alarm everyone, the light jog gave off a look of confidence. After all, the last thing I want is for people to think the dungeon’s in danger and go cause more trouble for Stella.

A few of the marriageable ladies cast him looks from the corner of their eyes as he passed by. Aster ignored them, used to the looks. Although he’d grown up in the capital, he’d spent long enough wandering the country to know what the looks really meant. Small towns like these had small dating pools. Rather than flattered, he felt like fresh, raw meat dropped in a tank of piranhas. Best to keep my eyes straight ahead and pretend I see nothing. Small-town politics are the worst, and besides, I’m only here to fix the dungeon, not to find a wife.

The old man who’d shown him the dungeon raised a hand as he passed, and Aster slowed to a halt. Carrying a fine silver-tipped cane, the old man walked up to Aster. “So? How goes it?”

Aster smiled. “I think I’ve figured out the source of the problem, but it’ll take a while to resolve. I’m planning to stay in the dungeon for a few days and see if I can straighten things out. Where can I find the cheapest dungeon supplies around here?”

The old man cracked a smile. “Oh, you’ve figured out the problem already? That’s wonderful news. What do you think is wrong?”

“It’s a long story, but to summarize… the dungeon wasn’t ready for delvers to kill its boss yet. It’s still too young. It basically sent its midbosses forward to block humans from entering the dungeon, which resulted in the disorder you saw,” Aster said. Although it wasn’t the full truth, it wasn’t a lie, either. I don’t want to tell people about Stella yet. First off, not everyone believes in Dungeon Spirits, and I don’t feel like having that argument right now. Besides, I’m an outsider to this small town. If I come roaring in shouting about a being that the villagers don’t believe in, I’ll be thrown out of town before I can snap my fingers, and they’ll recruit another high-level adventurer to look at this dungeon… someone who might not be as kind to Dungeon Spirits as myself.

Second off, if these villagers do believe in Dungeon Spirits… I don’t want Stella to become a tourist attraction! She doesn’t want to see humans at all, let alone floods and floods of them forcing their way through her dungeon to catch a glimpse of her. It would solve her mana problem, but only by causing another, worse problem. If I can, I want to leave Stella in a better position than where I found her. The last thing I want is for her to be treated like some two-bit sideshow.

“Too young? It’s a hundred years old! Older than me, even!” the old man joked, shaking his head.

“Old for humans is still young for a dungeon,” Aster replied, grinning in response.

The old man shook his head. “You’re the expert, after all. You’d know better than me. Ah! Supplies, supplies. You asked about supplies, yes?”

“Yes. I’ll need to stay in the dungeon to fix it,” Aster explained again.

“More’s the pity. We were hoping to have a new face at the tavern… ah, but ignore this old man. Blathering on complaining when you’re doing the job I hired you for… Yes, yes, supplies.” He lifted a withered hand and pointed down the street, at the shop next to the tavern. “Bessa’s shop has the best gear around. It’s a bit pricey, but she keeps it fair, and you get the quality you pay for.”

“Bessa? Thank you,” Aster said. He set off again.

“And do try to swing by the tavern one day, hmm? We’re all tired of seeing our own old faces!” the old man called after him.

Aster waved behind him. That won’t happen for a while, unless I can convince Stella that humans aren’t evil, or leave her safely for a whole night. Though even then, there’s a long, slow process from getting her to accept humans aren’t all trying to kill her to leaving her behind on her own to hang out in a tavern… and a long, slow process until her dungeon is secure enough that I’ll feel safe leaving her behind for a long time. Still, I’ll get there some day!

Bessa’s shop sat up against the tavern, sharing a wall with its rowdier neighbor. A bell rang overhead as Aster walked inside, into a musty and dusty room full of gear of every description. A broad-shouldered and powerful woman sat behind the counter, her head propped on her hand and a book open in front of her. Occasionally, shouts or bangs from the tavern leaked through the wall, but Bessa didn’t react at all. She glanced up as Aster entered and gave him a short nod, immediately turning back to her book.

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Aster chuckled. It is a small town, after all. She probably doesn’t get many visitors… especially not now that the closest dungeon is closed. He poked around the shop, picking up the things he didn’t already have. A small pup tent for Stella and a small bedroll to match, some writing charcoal and paper, a bag to store it all in. Over in the provisions section, he picked up enough rations for a month for himself. Bessa’s shop didn’t have the wide selection of provisions a true dungeon provisioning shop would have, but Aster was used to the dried fruits, meats, and hard biscuits that came along with dungeon delving. I’m not sure how long I’ll take, or if Stella will need to eat as well. A month seems reasonable. Hopefully by then I can lure her out of the dungeon and get myself a hot meal.

He grabbed a few other necessary items, then carried his load over to the counter. “All this, please.”

Bessa glanced up from her book, then sighed and heaved herself upright. She looked him in the eye. “You know the dungeon’s closed, right?”

“I know. I’m the one trying to fix it,” Aster explained.

With a harrumph, Bessa grabbed his first item in one hand and a ledger in the other. “You’re the second one to tell me that today.”

“W…what?” Aster asked. Did a true Dungeon Keeper come into town?

She thumbed over her shoulder at the tavern. “Those folks… what’re they called, they’ve got a dumb name. Something about cards. Spades… er, Clubs…?”

“Aces?” Aster guessed. His heart surged, and his hands tensed. The ones who killed Stella’s mom?

“Yeah, those ones. The ones who beat the dungeon, killed the boss, all that. Should’ve seen them the night it happened, whew! The whole shop was shaking from the party in the tavern.” She thumped her knuckles on the wall beside her.

“What are they doing?” Aster demanded, cutting into her explanation.

She raised her eyebrows at him and took a deep breath, then continued no faster than she’d spoke in the first place. “I think they felt responsible for it breaking, or something, so a few of them decided to go fix it themselves. Well, you know, having an outsider come in and fix something… it doesn’t sit right. If you’ll pardon me saying so to your face,” Bessa said, with an expression that suggested she didn’t care if he did or didn’t.

“Where are they now? Are they in the dungeon already?” Aster asked.

Bessa pursed her lips. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know, but if they aren’t in the tavern, they’re on their way to the dungeon. I’d look in the tavern first, though. That bastard Silas is always twaddling his damn lute in the corner, and if he isn’t there, look for that pretty boy priest Milo, or maybe Alice, she’s a looker too, long dark hair, dangerous glint in her eye… eh, there’s always Fontea and Jaro, but those two are locals and they look it, so they won’t stand out so much.”

He slapped a couple of gold coins on the counter and swooped up the supplies, quickly stuffing them in a large bag. “Keep the change.”

“You sure about that? You change your mind, I’ll have your change for you tomorrow,” Bessa said. She lifted one of the coins and bit it, eyebrows shooting up. “It’s real, huh.”

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Aster raced out of the shop and into the tavern next door. The tavern door slammed behind him, louder than he expected, and everyone inside turned to look at him.

Aster stared back, somewhat flustered, but then remembered Stella clinging to the corpse of her mother and gathered himself. “The Aces. Where are they?”

A muscular woman sitting at a table in the back looked over. “Who’s asking?”

“My name’s Aster. I’m the one who was fixing the dungeon,” Aster replied, sweeping his eyes around her table. Beside her, a mountain of a man sat, one hand wrapped completely around a tankard of ale. The rest of the table sat empty, no sign of the lute-twanging Silas, dark-haired Alice, or any pretty boy priests.

The woman grunted and gestured him over. Conversation slowly began again, the rest of the patrons turning back to their drinks.

Aster jogged over. “Are you…?”

“Fontea, and that’s Jaro,” she said, thumbing at the man beside her. He raised his hand and gave Aster a friendly smile. “The rest are…”

“Headed to the dungeon?” Aster guessed. He whirled around. No time to waste. If they meet Stella right now… if Stella meets the people who killed her mother, then…

Fontea grabbed him by the shoulder. “Wait, wait. Listen. They aren’t going to do anything stupid. There’s no need to be in a rush.”

“Entering the dungeon right now is stupid,” Aster countered, twisting free. In ways that they don’t even know!

Sighing, Fontea grabbed ahold of him again. “Listen. I get it, you came from the big city to help, yeah, yeah. But we’re adventurers, too. We know what we’re doing.”

“And I’m telling you, you don’t,” Aster replied. He shoved Fontea’s hand off his shoulder.

“I don’t get what the big deal is. They’re just going back in to take a look around and get the last scrap of hide. You won’t even know they were there,” Fontea said.

They’re planning to head all the way to the boss chamber? How much damage do they want to do? Aster grit his teeth. He turned and stomped away.

“You think you’re so high and mighty? Huh? How are you supposed to fix the dungeon when you don’t even know what the dungeon’s supposed to look like!” Fontea shouted after him.

Aster paused at the door. He gripped the doorframe and turned back. His mouth opened.

Everyone in the tavern stared at him. Cold, dead eyes, uncaringly glaring him down.

He wrinkled his nose and turned away, disgusted. They don’t care. Even if they knew about Stella, they wouldn’t care. All the dungeon is to them is a money pit. They don’t respect it, nor the beings that live inside it. Maybe I should just seal it up forever—

Calm down. Stella needs humans to live, even if she doesn’t like it. Besides, what am I doing, going on about respect? Monsters kill humans, humans kill monsters. It’s the natural order of things. I can’t expect the average adventurer to have much compassion for a dungeon, the thing that’s trying to kill them. I know I’m the weird one here. Calm down.

Gripping the bag tight, he ran back up the mountain, charging toward the dungeon. Hold on, Stella. I’m coming!