The first thing I did was tear down the beer girl poster and crumple it up. From the inside of my backpack, I grabbed the bottle of barbecue lighter fluid I'd packed. Carrying a burnable oil had been recommended on Reddit to fight the undead and things you couldn't bash. Slime, undead, same thing, right?

I doused the crumpled-up beer poster in lighter fluid and headed for the bathroom.

The slime had reformed and was in the process of pulling itself back into its soap bottle home. This would be an epic battle; man vs. terrible dungeon monster, human vs. little shit. Whatever came, I'd prepared. I imagined myself covered in victory laurels with all the shorties oozing wetness when they saw me.

I threw ripped-up chunks of the crumpled poster around the soap bottle and a small pile of butane-soaked paper littered around the sink and on the floor. For good measure, I resprayed the torn-up sign with lighter fluid. Pulling a safety match from my backpack, I lit that shit up.

The fire started small. A flickering little flame, that soon spread across the torn and crumpled kindling I'd provided it. I held out my hands to warm myself on my fire. The soap container began to melt. It was then that the bathroom vanity and the dungeon [Drywall] caught fire. Who makes dungeon furniture out of cheap particle board? Where there once was a small bonfire of slime death, grew into the [bathroom] being engulfed in flames. This room was not up to NAHB standards.

The smile on my face grew as my experience points ticked up 5 points. Take that, you slimy little motherfucker. Slimes, the little bastards, slimes probably grew up to be lawyers. Sending this one to the fiery pits of hell was my day's good deed.

Still, I had to back up out of the room quickly. The bathroom was turning into a massive conflagration. Note to self: don't pour gasoline all over the place to get five shitty experience points. Another note to self: Think twice about getting the fireball spell.

I closed the bathroom door and backed up into the first room. I could hear snaps, crackles, and pops that had nothing to do with rice crispies. The hallway was filling with smoke. Ah, shit. Time to stop this delve. Not like I didn't have shit to do outside the dungeon.

The bathroom door had caught fire when I got to the portal out of the dungeon. Hopefully, the refresh will fix things. On the other hand, I suddenly had visions of a burned-out hellscape and me walking around with a fire extinguisher battling fire elementals. That would totally kick-ass. Who knew. Maybe I could get an achievement for burning down a dungeon. Worth a try if I ever got access to someone else's.

In a better mood, I dropped all my delving stuff on the floor, then hummed "Fire, Water, Burn," and went into my bathroom to shower and change.

The interior of the HEMA club was totally medieval chic. There were sword stands lining the walls holding hundreds of swords. The floor was covered in a rubber padding that was ever-so-slightly flexible. In the corner were a few complete suit of Medieval plate armor that seemed to glare balefully out at the room. A large group of people, dressed in exercise gear, stood in neatly organized lines moving from fighting stance to fighting stance. Most of these people were clearly beginners.

"Ah, another new face. At this rate, we will have to buy another building to fit everyone. Welcome, stranger, welcome. I'm Gina," Said a woman who walked up to me. She was dressed all in black with a logo of "Tampa HEMA society," where a pocket should have been.

"Gina, aren't you supposed to be talking in all thee's and thou's? A girl dragged me to a Renaissance Fair once, and it was fucking irritating all the fake gobbledygook they babbled," I said.

"Maybe a couple of months ago, but with all these dungeons popping up? Well, more people are interested in preparing to be the adventurer they always wanted to be than returning to the glorious old days. The thee's and thou's fell by the wayside. Adapt to the times, am I right? So what should I call you?"

"Randy," I said.

"Soooo Randy, let me guess. You want to be a Delver with a capital 'D' and want to pick up sword fighting so you don't get skewered by the first goblin who tries to bite your ankles? Our little HEMA Club can help you with that. And before you ask Randy, HEMA stands for Historical European Martial Arts. It is based upon Medieval Sword Fighting and is the same style of fighting Middle Age Knights, Lords, and Kings used."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"The cost is a straight up $150 a month, and you can stop by any session. In the old days, we would only have two classes a day after work, but you know, renewed interest and all that. These days we run lessons from 11:00 am until 10:00 at night.

"You must buy a weighted, blunted polypropylene sword to use during practice. We sell them here for $500. You can buy them cheaper online, but then you have to wait for one to be in stock and then deal with the post office. We won't let you on the floor without the proper gear, and if you want to get started now…,

"It might also help if you bought our club's book on basic stances and handholds. That'll set you back another $75. You can dress in jogging clothes for the first few months, but when we press to sparring, you will need protective clothing. So what do you say? Are you in? We take Mastercard, Visa, Amex, PayPal, $Cashapp, Venmo, Bitcoin, and Ethereum. Sorry, we don't take Diner's Club because, like, who the hell ever takes Diners."

Gina looked at me expectantly.

I said, "But your website says it was $50 a month. That's why I came here."

"Old prices, I'm afraid. The new prices keep the dreamers away. You only qualify for the old price if you were a regular before the apocalypse started. Gus, that's the guy who owns this building; he keeps meaning to get our web designer to update the prices but forgets. We do have a package deal of $650 for everything. Save $75 bucks. It's a steal, I tell you."

"I think I might try out the Kendo place then," I said.

"No problem. But every dojo and martial arts organization these days is charging pretty near the same price. Sword skills, first aid skills, lock picking classes, mapping classes, even knitting classes. Some guy quit his high school science job and teaches a basic chemistry class that he calls Prelude to Alchemy.

"I hear that the Church of the Forgiving Eagle even teaches a Praying to Chickens class. You can find brochures for the nearby schools teaching various skills on the wrack over there." Gina pointed to a rack near the door. "Frankly, Randy, for those of us with hobbies considered outside the norm, this apocalypse has become something of a godsend and money making renaissance."

Sighing, I handed over my credit card. "I'll get the package deal then, but I won't like it."

"That's fine. Our charter has no rule that says you have to like it. I'll grab a beginner's package. If you need to change, go ahead. The changing room is over there. Feel free to browse through the brochures and watch the current class. The next session starts in 20 minutes. And you are in luck; it's a beginner class. Nearly two-thirds of our classes these days are aimed at beginners. Can't wait till some of you get good because I miss good sparing." Gina said.

I walked over to the table and looked at all the brochures. There was everything from "You and me and bandages" to "Picking doors and treasure chests for dummies" to "Meditation, not just for Hippies and Buddhists anymore." I grabbed a copy of each and covertly stuffed them into my inventory. The "Basics of Delving" and "Survivalism 101" sounded interesting.

I looked up the price of a sword on Amazon. The high-impact polypropylene training sword that most class members used cost $40. Son of a bitch.

The next session started with stretching exercises for the first ten minutes. I followed along as best I could, though stretching wasn't rocket science.

After the stretching, Gina led me to the corner of the room next to the plate armor and said, "Okay, I am going to show you how to hold your sword. You don't want to grip it too hard. Also, don't hold the pommel. Your pommel is a counterweight that helps you control the speed and direction of your thrust. Right hand near the hilt, your left hand, just below it."

She spent a few minutes correcting how I held onto the sword until she said, "I suppose that is good enough for now. Next, I want you to stand like this. Your legs should be about shoulder length apart. Yeah. Like that. Not bad. Okay, now this is your first move. Holding your sword correctly, I want you to thrust like this. It will be hard not to step into the thrust. That is an instinct. I want you to ignore your instincts and step into the thrust after swinging the blade."

Gina had me practice until I had it, and then she said, "Keep going. I am going to help some of the other noobs. I will be back in a bit."

I kept doing the same move, balancing on my legs, raising my sword, swinging, then stepping into the swing over and over. I didn't immediately see a new status bar in my Heads up Display listed as Learn: Basic Long Sword - HEMA style, and the indicator showed that I was at 8%.

Over the next few hours, Gina showed me three other swings, and the status bar climbed up to 43%, making almost jizz my pants.

Just as I was about to leave, Gina came over. "Hope you liked the class. You would be amazed how many people stick around for the first session and then never show up again. Just between you and me, your progress was amazing. You seemed to instinctively get the moves. Impressive. Are you sure you haven't become part of the system?"

"Naw, just a poser like everyone else here," I said. "I uh… just watched a lot of Star Trek and learned the moves from there," I said.

"Star Trek?" Gina said sounding confused. "Well, I guess it takes all types. Anyway, see you next time you come in. And keep in mind that if you want to catch up faster, we offer one-on-one sessions for $70 an hour with any of our expert swords people."

I nodded and hurried out of there.