I know exactly why I’m so desperate to save the kid. It’s not just that he steers all these paternal emotions inside of me. It's much more than that. I think I perceive him as a possible gateway to reconnect with my kids one day.

They will soon reach his age, and if I can help him, then I can maybe do the same to them.

On some level, I think... what if I can't save him or protect others I choose to protect, what would I ever have to offer to my own family? His death would be equal to accepting that I am a failure. That I have no power. It will be like looking in a mirror after losing a soccer game saying how I can't do shit, fearing I will never be able to win again.

I do not want to feel like a failure, feel as if I'll never be able to go back home. Powerless, meek, and weak.

So, bringing him back to living is just a way to keep that hope alive, saying how I'm now all omnipotent, that I have the power I thought I could never have. The power to give life. The power to change myself and mold my own destiny.

Besides, I can just imagine, going back and telling my kids about this young man I met and what a great swordsman he was, and how he made diced goblins of a whole dozen.

I imagine telling my kids all about him. I can even see bringing him home to meet my family. It’s crazy. I know. But it’s a dream. And that is keeping me sane. At least that’s what I’m thinking.

Others obviously don’t agree. From the Attributes I saw on my card, they think of me as stupid.

Oh, well. Time will tell who is right.

But now, I can see a way out. And it’s not by creating these crazy monsters that would destroy this world and cut down all these beautiful trees and torture and kill everything that walks and crawls. No. There is a better way. The dungeon itself does not know it yet. But, I’ll show it. I’ll show them all.

More determined than ever I start forming the plan.

“We take the liquids up first,” I say turning to the man who stayed in the shadow. Old Gerwin, I’m assuming.

But he is not moving. Still standing there, obviously pretending to be busy with something, his back turned to me.

“We don’t have time. Give me a hand,” I tell him in a raised voice, but I see him reluctant to come over and help out.

Maybe he is just scared. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Just help me out.”

As he turns around, comes out of the darkness, and takes down the hood covering his face, I see I know the man.

“Oh, we really need to have a talk,” I tell him as his eyes do not meet mine. Yeah, who else could it be? It’s my old snake oil salesman.

His mouth opens but no words come out, so I stop him. “Come on, that can all wait. Put your back in it. The booze goes first. That will soak fast into the Dungeon really well,” I tell him as I see him already ready to spit some kind of explanation to me. “Let’s go, Fairly Merrily.”

“Should we also bring that barrel of ale?” he asks, pointing to a nice little wooden barrel in the middle of the camp. “We put some Cheating Wife’s Powder in that one.”

“Oh, yes. I bet the Dungeon will love that one.”

“It was good ale. When Master Swordsman Nemyr came down to my house and told me about the problem, I went straight to Wickedly Wheels. Have the best ale in all the area. I knew the Dwarfs would not be able to resist. So, I went-”

“Yeah… Great. But, less talking, more lifting. You’re not that old, no matter what they call you, come on. And don’t worry about my Dungeon Fangers. They will not hurt you as long as you behave.”

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“But they look so mean.”

“They don’t look mean at all!” I rebuff him. “You don’t look mean, Whitehead. No, no, no, he did not mean it. And… yeah, show him your teeth. If he tries anything funny, bite him in the ass. Yes. Go straight for his ass. And if he does not learn from that, you change the side and go-”

“Please-”

“Hurry! What did I say?! Less talking, more lifting.”

There is a whole bunch of big five-gallon clay amphora. I open a few of them and see that they are either filled with beer or wine. And something else that smells like apple cider. Didn’t have that in ages. Feel like trying some, but who knows how much bacteria is in there? So, I do not dare even to put my finger inside.

When we are finished, the wheelbarrow is full. And I let him push it up. He should be glad I did not climb on top of it all.

As he rolls it up to the cave, I stop him, seeing how nervous he is getting.

“Let’s unload it all here. I’ll take it inside. Meanwhile, to save us time, you go down and start bringing more stuff in. And let me tell you, you do it slowly and I think you're slacking. And if I… have the least of a doubt you’re slacking, I’ll just have to send Whitehead and his brothers to see what is keeping you up. So, yeah, run, run downstairs, on a double!”

I take one amphora at a time, opening it up and turning it around once I hit the tunnel, spilling it all out as I walk down the tunnel. I bet there is a lot of energy in it, and the way the Dungeon absorbs it readily, I say it’s loving it. When I’m finished with each amphora I throw it against the wall, smashing it. The idea is that it would decompose faster that way.

When I finish with it all, the man has already come back up with the large wooden crate. How he got it up so fast, I have no idea. It is heavy enough I don’t think I can lift it up. Obviously, there is a lot more to this Old Gerwin that he wants you to see.

We carry it together to the first cave. “Let’s just drop it here,” I tell him, eager to start bringing other stuff in.

“Does it only digest what’s dead?” Old Sleazy Gerwin asks me, looking at the dead Goblins being decomposed there.

“No. And you know it.”

He looks at me with a glance of not understanding.

“Don’t act like that. You know it. It's digesting you right now, even as we speak. Don't look at me like that. You know that to be true. That’s why you told the kid not to stay here for more than an hour. Did you put him up for that stupidity he tried to pull? Did you tell him to come here and plunder this old, feeble dungeon?”

“No, no, I didn’t,” he answers swiftly.

“I’m actually starting to think that all of this might be your fault.”

“No, it’s not. He came to me, yes. And he was… going to come here and attack you no matter what I did.”

“Yeah? And you told his father about that?”

“Yes. That’s why he came here looking for him.”

“And you told him how you sold him the potion to prevent his blood from being frozen?”

He opened his mouth but suddenly did not find a word. In that one sentence, he got an answer for the question that, I bet, was bugging him all this time. “Please.”

“Don’t please me. You sold him a thing to make his body warm. I think you should tell his father all about that. Also, you should return the coin you charged him.”

“I already spent it on the beer.”

“Well, so, you owe him then. Also… I want to know all about the stuff you gave him. Where did you get it and what it is? And I want to know it all.”

“There is not that much to say. I-”

“Not right now,” I tell him as we are hustling back to the dwarf’s camp. “Soon. And you better be straight with me.”

“Or…?”

“Or what? You have a chance to be a decent human being here. Don’t squander it away! Don’t be a fool thinking you can rob me. I see how you've been looking at me. Thinking that knife you are hiding up in your sleeve if you can just cut me with it…" I was just fishing there, but as I see his frozen face, I try not to look surprised. "Thinking what will you do when my Fangers attack you. I see you are strong. I bet you are thinking if you can cut them all up, don’t you? I mean, maybe all this dungeon can be yours, right?"

Old Gerwin takes out a blade. I look at him, waiting to see what he will do. Not backing even half of the step away. And I make up my mind. If I have to freeze this dude, he stays freaking frozen. Forever. But then… since I understand now that forever might be a long time, maybe then just for a good fifty-sixty years.

Except… we are out of the cave. Can’t freeze even an ant here. I bet Old Sneaky Gerwin knows all about it. But he does nothing. He only sighs and drops the knife down into a barrel.

“Would you have in your grand heart of yours, to forgive a foolish old man?”

“You’re not a fool. You know you cannot win. If you thought you could, Oollie would be dead. I wouldn’t. So, give me respect and stop the act. And you're not all that old. So, Now, all those tools and stuff into the wheelbarrow,” I tell him as we arrive at the camp. “Food too. Everything. I push the cart up, and you carry those big brown rice sacks over your back. And hurry!”

On our fourth way up, I feel Oollie's little legs starting to cramp up. But also… something else is wrong. Horribly!

“No!!!” I scream and run. “No, no, no!!!”

Whitehead races to catch up to me, and I jump on him, holding by his fur and letting him carry me up.

Just to make sure my fear is right, I take the kid's card out and look at his stats.

It says,

[Name: Vania, The Son of Nemyr, from Ewon Falls, River Green District

Status: Dead

Health: 0]

Damn! Why did I leave him unattended for so long? My heart shrieks and Whitehead seems to read my mind and races up on the double.