Day 5, 11:45 AM

Damn, they are kids. All of them.

I was about Gila’s age when I led a rebellion, on a fast track to become a king, but that was just my body, mentally I was already pushing forty.

We chat for a while, and the kids are decent. They joke, they have hopes and dreams big and small, from gathering enough precious herbs in the dungeon to opening a small business to becoming a legendary explorer or the Tallrock’s castellan.

I also share my made-up story, which I’ve moved closer to a non-idiot version of Romeo and Juliet, where I, Romeo, have left my home to grow in power and influence until I can bend both families to my will and force them to allow me to marry the woman I love. Who in their right mind plays with poisons?

Blessedly, we reach the dungeon entrance an hour after noon. The two inquisitors in red, ominous robes and with long-shafted maces or blunt axes in their hands glance at us. Their gazes linger on me, but they say nothing and let us pass.

With their menacing presence out of the way, I focus on the mound they are guarding. The dungeon itself stands atop the hillock, a mere brick stairway leading underground. It’s the size and shape of a field toilet with a slanted roof to keep the rain out. All in all, a very unassuming structure, one I would avoid, my peerless nose petrified by the promise of horrid odors.

“I’ll go first.” With an utter disregard for the said nose, I take the lead and step into the outhouse dungeon.

The first step is a small rise, another tool to keep the water out, then the stairs so steep you might as well call them ladders, plummet down like a tunnel with light on the other end.

“Mind your step.” I remind the kids and start my descent.

With an agility score of twenty, or two-and-a-half times the ability of a regular human, the stairs aren’t a problem. The kids aren’t as sure-footed, the footsteps behind me are a lot more hesitant and careful than mine. I could easily go down and wait for them, but I slow my descent, in case I need to catch one of them so they don’t break their necks.

Fortunately, some forty feet below the surface, I reach the mossy ground, with all the kids still following safely behind me. The cavern before me is vast, certainly taller than forty feet, with something providing yellowish-orange light from the ceiling.

Beneath the impressively high dome is a jungle of the same plants that grow on the surface, but there’s a significant difference between the two worlds. There is no rain, not a drop, and I’m thankful for it. My keen nose picks up a wide range of smells, including damp ground. A flash of gold interrupts my rumination.

[Welcome to the Dungeon, your Guide is awakening.]

The writing is black on gold, like a plaque, written in this world’s strange letters. They don’t seem faceless, like BSD’s uniform writing. Instead, there are minor variations, as if the message was written by hand.

[Name - Fyoor Enchanterson]

It starts listing my stats when a new golden sheet replaces it.

[Fault - Fyoor Enchanterson already has a Guide.]

[Fault - Fyoor Enchanterson’s status is deceased.]

[Fault - Fyoor Enchanterson’s attributes have greatly changed.]

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Warnings framed in gold flash before my eyes, and I realize something. The Guide isn’t merely a tool to help people access BSD information. It’s keeping track of them in some way.

But why?

Another, even stranger message, appears.

[Who or what are you?]

I barely keep myself from jumping from shock. The question gives me the creeps. I already knew that BSD was and still is tampering with my thoughts, memories, knowledge, and even muscles and muscle memory. But implanting skills into my being is different from actively trying to talk to me.

I am Fyoor.

[Lies. Who or what are you?]

My body is that of Fyoor Enchanterson.

[We know that already. Who or what are you?]

We? Who’s ‘We’? The Guide either can’t read my thoughts if I don’t think at it or it doesn’t reply.

I don’t want to answer either, but the golden sheet expands, covering my entire field of vision. The only thing I can see is the question. I hate BSD, but this Guide just climbed to the top of the list. If it can access my mind, then it already knows everything about me, since it’s asking questions, that can mean only one thing, it doesn’t have access to my mind. There are some limitations.

I am a visitor using a convenient vessel.

I think at it, and the screen disappears, replaced by one revealing my limited information, with no further questions coming my way. The whole exchange lasted a handful of seconds, leaving me with questions fueling other questions as my imagination runs wild.

Stop. Calm down. You have no means of getting answers now, and you’re powerless to do anything even if you do get them. Remember, you’re covering in front of a single witch. There will come a time to consider the civilization-monitoring ‘We’ you just interacted with.

I hold my breath, focusing on the immediate issues. Dungeon, gaining levels, seeing the kids back home safely. Maybe helping Gila open a tailor’s shop. Yes, nice, calm thoughts.

They help. I even have the time to normalize my heart rate and stop my paranoia from running wild before Lucy steps onto the mossy ground behind me.

“It’s hot in here!”

She’s right, the air is both drier and warmer down here. Probably because the rain is constantly cooling the surface, but there might be other reasons relating to magic.

“It really is!” Gila is the next to arrive, hopping down the last three steps, flailing her arms like she’s trying to fly. “And look, there’s no rain, like indoors, but there are plants and light and stuff.”

Fred brings up the rear, and assured none of them fell down the steep stairs and broke their necks, I once more focus on our surroundings. There’s a strong dissonance in my mind as all the flora looks absolutely alien to me, and yet as soon as I focus on a plant I know its name, properties, and what I could use it for.

“Wow! I’m a level three maid!” Gila exclaims. “I even have three ability points and skills!”

“I’m a level two assistant.” Lucy doesn’t bother to hide her disappointment. “But I also have three ability points.”

I’m surprised, the difference means she’s already on her second class. The only one silent and even more sullen than Lucy is Fred.

“What about you, Fred?”

“Level one laborer. One ability point.” He spits the words out like phlegm, with a disgusted face.

The low level and the class aren’t really his fault. If he became a laborer unknowingly, and never managed to change the class, but also no longer worked as a laborer, it’s entirely possible to stay stuck at level one or zero.

If I recall correctly, all you need to do to level up from zero to one as a slave is to work without food for ten days straight. But if your master feeds you and nobody steals your food, it’s entirely possible to stay level zero your whole life. Even a weapon master who favors an ax, can spend his whole life as level zero fighting people wielding swords, clubs, and spears. Hell, without knowing the condition, a weapon master could spend his whole life in the dungeon, unaware that all he needed to do was bite a monster to death.

“It’s all right, Fred.” I pat the young man on the back. “All you need to do is get a different class and level it up here in the dungeon.”

I look at the girls. “In fact, I think both of you also need new classes, since I don’t think you can level up your original classes here.”

“But how do we change them?” Gila asks, and I look at Fred.

“Did your father tell you how?”

He shakes his head, and I sigh.

What’s the worst that could happen if I tell them what I’ve concluded so far?

“This is a family secret, and you have to promise me not to spread it around.” I look at them with the hardest gaze I can muster, which makes for a pretty damn titanium glare, and they nod. Gila even gulps cutely, and I start talking, suppressing a smirk.

“From what I know, and what I know might not be true, what you need to do is meet the conditions for another class and either be willing to change yours or not wanting to keep it. That’s what they told me, I don’t know if there’s a difference between the two, nor what the difference is, but my stubborn old man said it like that.”

I make a dramatic pause before continuing.

“For example, to become a hunter you need to hunt something and deliver it home, but I guess you could deliver it to a person who asked you to hunt whatever it is you have caught. I don’t know how many times you have to do it, though. But don’t worry. There are all sorts of classes, and we can definitely get you something better suited for combat while we’re on the first floor.”