Deshir locals were pretty much the same as everyone else living in a frontier town – a mix of friendly and mistrusting, willing to hear a stranger out but not necessarily to go out of their way to help. It was about what Torwin expected, which was why he was so surprised to find out the entire town had such a sore spot when it came to its own history.

Specifically, they didn’t much like talking about the Black Fang. He’d mostly gotten variations of, “That damn kid cursed the whole area, got his family and who knows how many others killed, and didn’t even have the decency to die with them,” from every single person he’d tried to talk to.

The level of hostility was unexpected, given that the topic was their own town’s history, but he was more than willing to keep chipping away at the problem. Unfortunately, the local innkeeper had overheard him questioning some of the regulars, or maybe they’d tattled on him while he was distracted. However the man had found out what Torwin was asking people about didn’t change that he wasn’t happy and had kicked the [Ranger] out.

“Well, shit,” Torwin said, scratching the back of his head as he looked up and down the street outside the Brave Boar. Jensen was still inside, somehow. Presumably, the owner hadn’t realized they were together, or maybe he had and was just more willing to tolerate the guy who was spending money on beer.

Just go find someone else, I suppose. Who’s not so busy that they’d mind me asking them some questions, and old enough that they might actually know the answers?

The farmers were out in their fields, but Torwin doubted he’d get a friendly conversation from any of them. Jensen probably had the right idea. He needed to spend a little money; that’d loosen up someone’s tongue. And what he had sitting on his status screen in decarmas was enough to buy the whole town a dozen times over, then knock it down and build something a little less rustic in its place.

He quickly located an herbalist’s shop a street over from the Brave Boar. Perfect. Anyone dealing in herbal remedies has probably been around for a while. Nobody trusts a young doctor. I’ll just buy a few things off the shelf to grease the wheels, then we’ll see what’s what.

There was nobody on the shop floor when he peered through the window, but the shutters were thrown open so he assumed they were open. Walking through the door, he took a good look around and nodded to himself. There were racks of clay flasks, carefully labeled, beyond a shopkeeper’s counter, all made to cure common ailments. A row of plants in ceramic pots sat on a table below the window with a sack of soil and an old tin watering can tucked underneath. A work bench on the opposite wall had a pair of pruning shears, six metal bowls, and a mortar and pestle that was stained green laying on it.

“Hello?” he called out. “Anyone there?”

An old man poked his head out from around the corner. “Huh? Who’re you?”

“Just passing through,” Torwin said. “Thought I might pick a few things up.”

“That so?”

The old man stepped fully into view, revealing a rather scrawny frame partially supported by a walking stick. His beard was pure white, a bush of wires shooting off in every direction, and contrasted with his head, which was bare but for a few cloudy wisps on the side and deeply tanned. The man looked like old leather wrapped around bones with a fat blob of a nose between two pale, rheumy eyes.

He hobbled over to his counter and dropped into a hidden stool, then groaned and leaned forward. “What’re you needing?”

“Common remedies for road ailments,” Torwin said. It wasn’t true, of course. His physical stat was far, far too high for him to have to worry about things like fevers, blisters, or fungal infections. Even Jensen was getting to the point where he was functionally immune to the kind of things a common herbalist could treat, and he wasn’t even level 20 yet.

“And how much you looking to spend?”

“I’ll take whatever you can spare.”

The old man cocked a bushy eyebrow at him. “Let’s put some coin on the table before we go any further.”

“Fair enough,” Torwin said with a wry smile. He materialized five decarmas and let them clink onto the wood.

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Letting out a whistle of appreciation, the old man lifted one up to the light. “Don’t see these too often. For five, I think I can stock you up with enough to get you all the way back to the city, maybe more if you walk as fast as I think you do.”

“I am a fast walker,” Torwin admitted. “You kind of have to be with my job. I’m all over the place hunting monsters.”

The old man grunted. “You the one they pooled the money together and hired to take care of the infestation?”

“Me and my apprentice. And let me tell you, I’m glad I brought him along. I was not expecting there to be quite so many of them. The job posting really undersold how bad things are up here.”

“Wasn’t deliberate, I’m sure,” the old man told him. He reached back behind him and started pulling flasks down blindly. “[Willow Wort], for fever. [Sage], [Yellow Bark], and [Crown Thistle] for coughs. This one’s a salve for cuts to stop bleeding. It’s made of ground up [Builder’s Root] and [Ash Fern] with a boiled water base.”

“All handy things to have on the road,” Torwin said. “How many of each can you spare?”

“For five decarmas, let’s say six of each.”

That was a blatant rip off, more than three times how much the medicine should have cost, but Torwin was happy to pay it if it kept the herbalist in a good mood and answering questions. “Anything special I should know about any of these?”

“Nah, they’re all standard. Should last for about four months before you’re going to want to toss them out. If you hang onto them after that, you’ll just make yourself sicker trying to use them.”

“Sounds good. By the way, you’ve got to know this forest pretty well, right?”

“Been harvesting from there for forty years, so I’d say so,” the old man said.

“Any idea what’s causing the monster surge?” Torwin asked. “We’ve been out killing all week and it barely feels like we’ve made a dent in things. None of the town mayors seem to have a clue, but I figure a fellow woodsman like yourself probably knows a thing or two.”

If not for his over fifty levels of stat increases, Torwin might have missed the herbalist’s eyes flicker down to the pile of decarmas and back up, or the grimace that started to form on his lips. The old man did an admirable job keeping his face blank, good enough that nobody around here would have spotted it, but Torwin did. That’s right, information is what I’m really buying. You want that money, you have to answer the question.

“Monsters have been showing up here for years,” the old man said slowly, almost chewing the words before he let them out. “More so in the last few years. Started getting real bad this summer.”

That wasn’t new information. Torwin didn’t say anything, just waited for the old man to continue. Seeing that his customer wasn’t satisfied with that explanation, he grunted and added, “Best guess is the old dungeon in the deep wood about forty miles northwest of here. Supposedly it was destroyed, but where else would all the monsters be coming from?”

“I heard some wild kid was responsible for them,” Torwin threw out. “No one seems to know why, though.”

Somebody walking by the shop froze right near the window, just out of sight, but Torwin could hear them breathing. The old man hadn’t noticed whoever it was though, or if he had, he ignored them.

“Some folks think the kid was the one who woke the dungeon back up, him and that friend of his.”

Friend? That’s new.

“Doesn’t matter,” the herbalist said, forestalling Torwin’s next question. “The other kid never came back, and even if they were the ones who woke the dungeon, they were children. It wasn’t like they did it on purpose.”

The eavesdropper scuffed a foot on the street, loud enough that there was no way the old man hadn’t heard it. Torwin inwardly groaned, but tried to keep the conversation going anyway. “I get the feeling that’s not a popular opinion around these parts.”

The old herbalist grunted and swept the coins off the counter. “Forget the kids. They don’t matter. You want my advice? Go look at the dungeon.”

“I’d like to know more—” Torwin started to say.

“No more to tell. Now, I’m busy and you’ve got monsters to be killing. Best take your medicine and be on your way.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a new lead. He’d already known about the dungeon, but that two kids had gone out there right before the monsters started appearing was new. Or rather, that there were two of them and one hadn’t come back was an additional piece of the puzzle. Some sort of blood sacrifice, maybe. That might wake up an old, broken dungeon. None of that fits with the Black Fang and his class orb, though. There’s got to be somebody who actually knows what happened and is willing to talk about it.

With a sigh and a nod, Torwin collected the flasks and stowed them away in his pack. He walked back out onto the street and glanced over at the person, wondering if their presence was what had caused the old man to clam up. To his surprise, it was a young lady, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old.

“You’re the hunter they hired,” she said.

He inclined his head. “I am.”

“Why are you asking about Velik and Chalin?”

“Tell me what you know and I’ll tell you why I want to know it.”

The girl glanced around once, then nodded resolutely. “Follow me.”