My mentor was gratifyingly amazed by [Intermediate Universal Translation], confirming he'd also fully believed the Skill was single-tier. "But I do not have your memory, Rowena," he cautioned, and promised to look into it.

Less happily, he supported Bessie's plan to tackle another dungeon. "But is all this really necessary?" I couldn't help asking.

"You have neither the authorization nor coins to spare for a portal," Senior Rubrik said, "Which limits your options considerably. As is, you are fortunate another known Starting Dungeon is relatively accessible, but your investigative subject is no new dungeon, however possibly anomalous. This one has two floors and nearly three years of experience. You absolutely need more preparation."

"I thought it should be too dumb for its experience to matter."

"But some of its minions may not be, including its first-floor boss."

"Oh, um." Shifting uncomfortably, I admitted, "I thought to stay far behind, hopefully in another room, while my friends take care of it. Early-floor bosses are supposed to be single unsupported minions unable to leave their domains, right?"

"In that case," he said with no trace of judgment, "You should be sure to account for every possible hiding spot, lest some enterprising minion flee your team but seize the obvious opportunity when you are alone and unguarded."

I gulped. This dungeon was known to have oversized bugs as starting minions, which I could easily imagine lurking in unreachable nooks and crannies. Yet the alternative risked the boss targeting me. My shoulders slumped. Still: "I'm no adventurer," I said, perhaps somewhat petulantly, while finishing the paperwork on my application for Bronze-Rank status.

"We are not defined solely by our guilds, Rowena," came the mild reply.

I couldn't help feeling like the jaws of adventure's trap were snapping closed on me. Before I knew it, I would be waving a staff around and boasting of my magical might. Adding injury to insult were the application, starting, and annual fees, unlike when I joined the Scholar's Guild and Senior Rubrik had mine waived. At least the Bronze ones were low enough even I could afford them, using the little I'd saved from reproducing books with [Scribe], and in return I would receive a pretty little bronze-colored badge with my name and depiction embossed, which was admittedly fancier than the Scholar robes and rank pin.

"Take heart. You will benefit regardless from bettering your ability to defend yourself."

I sighed. "Maybe I'll even benefit from better knowing my own spells," I said, to basically quote Bessie. We exchanged grimaces; that misassumption was a favorite pet peeve of Scholars.

Everybody knew the three broad steps to gaining a Skill, each arguably the easiest and hardest: first was the foundation, easiest because it needed only the skill achieved in its most basic form once, hardest because it needed a skill achieved successfully for the first time; next was the buildup, easiest because it was just doing the same thing over and over, hardest because doing it took the most (mind-numbing) time; and finally was the breakthrough, easiest because it happened in an instant, hardest because there was no guarantee that instant would ever happen.

For instance, my [Universal Translation] was infamous in certain circles for the ridiculous difficulty in laying its foundation, typically requiring fluency in ten to twelve significantly differing languages. The buildup tended to be no less arduous, with the polyglot using each known language regularly, ideally multiple times in the same day. And after all that, the breakthrough could take years, or decades, or it could inexplicably never come, stymied by some bottleneck.

The only step that involved possibly learning a Skill's inner workings was the first one, but these days even that much was unlikely. To think in terms of music, most people learned a single new song at a time without ever bothering to study how to read sheet music, or what really made music, or different ways to play the song, or anything else besides repeating the same stupid notes until a Skill was granted, at which point the Skill practically played their music for them. Even more infuriatingly, we the Scholars who did care to learn tended to overthink things, or have clumsy fingers, or be tone-deaf, or lack some other fundamental instinct for musical greatness.

In other general words, we were better at studying and teaching than actually doing (except for Skills like [Scribe], [Appraisal], or [Universal Translation]).

Not that gaining a Skill from a Tier-2 beginner spell like Fireball should be difficult for me, but it was definitely dissatisfying when, even excluding my various noncombat Skills, I had studied Tier-6 advanced spells, helped cast Tier-5 so-called siege spells, and casted Tier-4 intermediate spells on my own. I might only have the Tier-1 basic [Mana Shield] as an actual combat-oriented Skill, but...

But nothing. I could hardly chalk a casting circle in the dungeon and spend precious minutes on each spell with enough firepower to neutralize a single monster. My friends were doing me this favor; the least I could do was try not to be a total deadweight.

The next few days crawled agonizingly, as I trooped over to the rowdy Adventurer's Guildhall to repeatedly, repetitively, repetitiously recast the same Fireball spell until my brain leaked out from my ears, or more realistically, my mana ran dry. At least I only had to draw each six foot diameter runic circle once per day, since I could repair individual runes with judicious use of [Scribe]. The primary excitement came whenever Tom joined me, confirming my private theory all adventurers were insane by deliberately taking my Fireballs, which always ended with him rolling on the floor in agony, sometimes still on fire. The first time this had happened I was not ashamed to say I had been half hysterical, but he would not relent in his determination to build up [Fire Resistance] and added this was excellent practice besides for advancing [Pain Resistance] and [Self-Healing]. I didn't even want to think about what he'd had to do to obtain those two Skills, but thank mana especially for the latter.

Fortunately for my own fraying sanity, I then had an epiphany. Using a slightly modified casting circle, I settled into a routine of speedily if inefficiently hurling Fireballs, quickly burning out my mana, and reading a book while Meditating to recover said mana. Rinse and repeat. As a bonus, I might finally be able to advance my [Meditation] over a decade after gaining the Skill. Not only was it difficult to multitask Meditating while reading (and trying to forget the smell of burnt flesh), but other distractions abounded in the training room, and I was a bit paranoid about some stray spell mutilating my book. Or me, of course.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Unfortunately, [Meditation] continued to frustrate, but I did manage to start multitasking casting Fireball with contemplating my recent reading, so long as Tom wasn't around, and about a month after nominally joining the Adventurer's Guild, I attained [Fireball]. Naturally, my four friends, who lacked any formal magical training prior to joining their muscleheaded guild, claimed I must be some kind of genius. I did my best to accept their well-meaning sentiments graciously, but when Bessie tried to insist I take advantage of my talent to learn at least another defensive Skill, I put my foot down, babbling excuses about the possibly atypical development of possibly anomalous dungeons, the statistical likelihood of our intended Starting Dungeon only growing more dangerous as we tarried, and the mental instability we increasingly risked my contracting until she threw up her hands and caved.

So then we were off to see the dungeon. Fortunately, the Companion's Guild often ran caravans to its nearest town, and Bessie was able to negotiate free passage for her promise the adventurers would defend the caravan with their lives. I was surprised, since Companions specialized as bodyguards, among other things, but she shrugged and pointed out, "Not like we're asking for payment in coins. See you in a week!"

As Silver-Rankers, my friends could hop into intra-continental portals so long as they could pay. I waved them off enviously before retreating to my sanctuary of books.

The designated meeting point was at the Companion's Guildhall, the largest tavern in Wilton. Once again I arrived bright and early, well I presumed it would be bright once the sun had fully risen, and again I found Bessie chatting away. She really would fit right in with the gregarious guild.

This time without the distraction of a pretty face she noticed and introduced me straight off, and soon I was meeting various entertainers, chaperones, and others in the hospitality industry. They passed around free cups of mulled wine, which made me a little apprehensive at first since I'd only tried alcohol the once, but then I found the taste and warmth extremely pleasant. Likewise the company: the Companions were as lively as adventurers, but without the weapons and roughhousing. I was fascinated by them, their playful stories, their constant music and laughter, their tumbles and tricks, and they seemed equally interested on hearing I was a Scholar, plying me with questions until my friends found me describing the most ridiculous Skills ever discovered to an avid audience. Hannah's comical face as I detailed the events leading up to [Upper Anterior and Lower Posterior Enlargement] was surely unforgettable.

For the first time I thought I understood what they'd all kept trying to show me, the world outside full of life experiences I'd never known. Or maybe I was just an incredible lightweight.

Then a grim procession of figures arrived in dark colors of mourning, along with an explanation of the slight delay in our departure, and the merry mood evaporated like morning dew. Apparently the late arrivals had just joined our caravan after receiving ill news. Silence briefly descended, except for soft sobs conspicuously originating from one huddled corner. The complete change in atmosphere was jarring, I thought, but with practiced ease the worldly Companions switched to respectful voices and restful music, not that the inconsolable newcomers even seemed to notice.

As misfortune can sometimes bring unexpected fortune, so the caravan underwent a striking transformation before our eyes. The plain wooden wagons were replaced with rune-enforced covered models, with an increase in both size and number; new drivers arrived, led by a smartly dressed fellow who earned instant deference from the others; the new horses looked like they'd stepped right off posters for the Equestrian's Guild, while the old ones were quietly trotted off.

We all watched as a flurry of Advanced Skills were used, concentrated on the wheels and horses. Tom whistled. "Must have paid for speed."

"It's kind of them to include all of us," Hannah ventured.

"Practical," he countered. "More safety in numbers."

We fell silent as the raincloud of gloom and despair drifted over. It was time.

I soon understood why the wagons had been upgraded to include covers. The horses set off at a breakneck pace, took the fast lane on the paved roads, and then sped up. And up. At the speeds we quickly reached, the winds would have lashed us mercilessly. The view outside the window was practically a blur. I had to look away after a bout of dizziness, which wouldn't have stopped me from enjoying and studying the experience, except I was vicariously depressed from the miasma of grief accompanying us. Instead I Meditated while hunkered down with a book, made possible by runes designed for passenger comfort, so expertly done I could've closed my eyes and imagined myself in the library. Too bad they didn't also conveniently block my [Advanced Empathy].

We arrived after only two hours. It was hard to believe we'd crossed a country border from Grimmark to Orinavia. Tom had to be shaken awake, grumbling, "Did we have to leave so early?"

"Well, originally the trip was supposed to take six hours," Bessie said. "Don't complain, maybe we'll have time to sightsee."

"I wonder what private tragedy could've rendered an entire group so uniformly miserable," I said, watching the dark figures depart.

"Um, I thought it was obvious they're attending a funeral?" Hannah said.

"No, Rena's right," Tom said. "Likelier what died was their hopes and dreams. Some people wear mourning colors for all sorts of losses."

Bessie sighed. "Sometimes, no offense, you can still be so cynical."

"More with less sleep. Besides, you didn't say we're wrong."

"Because I don't want to argue in favor of somebody dead..."

Their voices drifted past, unable to distract me from the fact we were approaching another dungeon. But a guard stopped us outside: "Already occupied." This meant more time to figuratively bite my nails and regret my life choices.

"It'll be fine," Bessie said when my agitation had me constantly looking up from my book. "Rena, the boss is basically a bigger bug. Tom can block it even if it charges you. And there's the team inside..."

"They're coming out," Blake reported.

"Howdy!" she cheerfully greeted the emerging party. From their flushed faces and relaxed postures, I'd think they had just played a rousing game of sports rather than brutally fought for their lives. "Did you by any chance clear this dungeon here?"

"No, no." One adventurer laughed. "We were just practicing Skills. We did clear the first floor mostly by accident, and uh, we wanted to end on a high note so we took out the boss. Sorry if you came for that!"

"It's no problem at all," Bessie said, while I couldn't stop myself from smiling in relief.

The other party eyed me as though I was the weird one. "I'm sure it'll respawn soon if you wait," the speaker said uncertainly, before leaving.

Thanks to their contribution, the run went better than our best expectations. Though I had my book tucked away safely in Tom's pack, I did not even have to cast [Fireball] a single time. All right, yes, it was anticlimactic. But I was sure any disappointment I felt stemmed from that slightly traumatizing month I'd wasted and from my fight-loving friends. Anyway, we were approaching the real prize, the Core, which readily awoke to our approach.

Right away I could tell something was different. The sensation leaping out at me was of an uncomplicated hunger, reminding me of immature beasts I had encountered (from safely outside their cages). This dungeon did not seem to understand its minions had been defeated or that it might itself be in danger. In fact, after its attempts to feed proved as fruitless as mine to communicate, it proceeded to try and fail to return to sleep. Unperturbed, acting only on instinct, it tried and failed at something else, probably making more monsters or rooms. Possibly both. The cycle repeated, food, sleep, growth, as though unaware of any interruptions or our presence.

So this was what a normal Starting Dungeon was like: exactly as described in books. I nodded, satisfied, as my friends stood at ease idly chatting with one another. That definitively answered one question, leaving the big one.

Just what was the story with our very different dungeon?