What does this mean? I mean, the hero is alive, obviously. So is this an old hero?

I guess it makes sense that there were other heroes before our current one. Though I wonder, was there a dungeon-master before ours too? Hard to say. My mind races with all the things that this could possibly mean. Assuming my menu isn’t lying, which I’m just going to go out on a limb and say it isn’t. I mean it’s a little grody and ragged, but I don’t think menus can lie. Can they? I mean, I’m new to this stuff, but…

Wait. Does this mean demon-miasma was a hero? I’m friends with a hero? I feel joy well up in me.

Double wait, does this mean I have an actual hero’s menu? Talk about top-tier loot!

I want to jump in excitement and in all truth I am about to do so, but then I realize the others are still watching. They are confused, wary and worried, obviously. I can’t say I blame them. Only adventurers have menus. The two goblins clearly have never seen one before, but they have heard about them. It’s hard to mistake for anything else, when you see a magic box floating in front of you. Anything with a menu is a goblin’s natural enemy.

“Zig’urk?” asks the sister. “What is this place? What is that?” Her brother is cautious, I see his hand hovering above the dagger on his waist. I notice he has a bad burn on his arm from the slimes. Wave-brother or not, having a menu is not a good look for a goblin, tell you what. If I tell them the truth, they obviously won’t believe me. Respawning isn’t unheard of in some trash-mob contexts. But going back in time each time is certainly unheard of. The few trash-mobs that can respawn, or are resurrected, are usually undead of some kind and they still go forward in time normally.

So I’ll tell them a half-truth, something they’ll believe. Raising my hands I tell them that I was here before. That I had found this place earlier but I ran away because I got scared on my own. But now I decided to come back.

The sister seems relieved. She bought it. But her brother is still tense. “Why do you have a menu?”

Fair point, guy. I lie, I tell them I have no idea. It just popped up all of the sudden just now. I am thankful they didn’t see the little yellow pop-up before. But look. Look! I point to the title of the room we are in. They might have read it before, but now they really understand it. Hero’s grave. This is huge. We look at the body again. Neither of them have ever seen a dead adventurer before and none of us have ever seen a dead hero. She asks what should we do? Loot the body? It looks like good stuff after all. I think about it for a moment, but somehow looting a hero seems… unethical? Even for trash-mobs. I mean murder and violence is one thing and it’s not like I really believe in respect for the dead. But the thought of looting a hero feels… different.

Besides, I know him personally, you know?

I tell them I don’t want to touch the body. It may have been trapped by other adventurers or it might come back as an undead-hero if we disturb it. That would be a bad time. The thought of the armored skeleton rising up frightens both of them enough that they agree it would be best to let him rest in peace. His lance does look mighty fine though, but no, I shake my head and look back to the menu. I press the arrow to send it back down to the main window and then pretend not to know what I’m doing before pressing it away. Casually I joke to the others that I guess this means I’m a hero now. I don’t hate the implication, really. They look at each other, first a little worried. But then I notice something spark in their eyes as a realization dawns upon them.

If I’m a hero, a trash-mob hero at least, that means they are adventurers now, right? They’re my party members after all. All suspicion in their eyes is lost now at this prospect. They seem pretty happy actually, all things considered and grab each other and jump up in joy like I wanted to before. I am a little confused and a little jealous at first, but then I remember, well Zig’urk does.

Goblins don’t usually choose their professions you see, they are assigned at birth. Some are casters, some are patrolmen, some are just random mooks, and there’s the one champion. There is some leeway so a good patrolman can be a royal guard and such, but that’s about all there is in terms of progression. Well these two are mooks. They’re my friends, but they’re mooks. Let’s be real here, okay? Level one trash-mobs at the bottom of the dungeon. The worst of the worst. They are there just to fill the room. Cannon-fodder.

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That’s all mooks are and ever will be. A literal one hit wonder. It’s a heavy spiritual burden in goblin society. We don’t treat them badly, their assignment is all part of the dark-lord’s plan, after all. But nobody wants to be a mook. It’s a rough thing to live with. Well, this means they have in a sense ‘leveled-up’. Solely going by goblin-logic, of course.

By goblin-logic, if I am a hero and they are with me as my ‘party’, that means they are adventurers now and that is way more than a level of progression. It’s skipping the entire leveling system entirely and maxing out at once. This is their lucky break, as far as they see it. I smile. I don’t have the heart to tell them I’m not actually a hero. I’m just a trash-mob with a menu and they’re still just mooks. It is good to let them believe. It’s what Zig’urk would have wanted.

We don’t have long left anyways.

I look around the room, trying to discern where to go next. There has to be more here, right? It can’t just be a dead end chamber with a body in it. It is too far out of the way. Too well hidden for it to be just that. I look back to my dead friend, before I then walk towards the far end of the room, opposite the way we came. I saw something on the map before. Looking at all the mushrooms, I wonder how the fairy-mother is doing. I hope she’s alive. Well, as alive as undead can be. My two living friends are ambling behind myself, they are acting like children when given real meat that isn’t from a rat. Their voices are high and excited, their eyes wide and wet reflect the aura of the glowing fungi. The sister explains how she wants to be a healer. Maybe if she works hard she can get a menu too and then get some mana. She’s heard stories of white-magic and how great it is supposed to be.

Her brother is more of the stabby type, he wants to be a thief. I twitch as I hear the word, a bubble of rage rising in my heart. But I suppress it. I won’t hold a grudge against the thief-girl, as bad as I want to. As they talk about their hopes and dreams, I wonder how long they have left to live. The hero-party is getting faster and faster. When I was a skeleton, they reached the final floor before the first day of my unlife was even over. I remember how surprised I was that they reached me so quickly at the moonlight-arena before too. That was what… two lives before the skeleton life? That means they got significantly faster in just that span. Why? How? If that’s the case, that means they are likely even faster now than in my skeleton life

All together, that means they’ll arrive at the goblin outpost any minute now, if they haven’t already. I tell my friends to walk faster, we need to hurry.

While it is true that we do. I also don’t want them to hear the screams echo down the well and up the hidden stairs. I don’t really think the sound could go that far, truth be told. But I still feel paranoid about it. I don’t want to see their expressions now. Undead and slimes are one thing. But goblins are like me, the first me. They are alive, aware, and intelligent. They feel and emote. They have dreams and hopes and families. I don’t want them to hear how all of that is literally being cut in half.

Something tall and thin rises up in the distance. Stairs! I point to them, the others look on in excitement. As we approach I feel a weight in my chest, a dread. Are these ‘real’ stairs? Or are these hidden stairs? Secret stairs? Can we go up them? Please. Dark-lord, I don’t know what else to do.

I tenderly place a first foot on the thin, freestanding stone stairs that rise up into a vague darkness above us. Taking a deep breath I look back to my friends, they stand a foot back, their hands clenched and held forward, their eyes still shining with fresh wonder. Looking up to the stairs I raise my foot and take another step.

The relief I feel is indescribable, friend. Like the weight of this entire dungeon crashing down on me has been lifted, even if only for that moment. Excitedly I look back to my friends and tell them to come on. Somewhat recklessly, truth be told, we rush up the stairs together. I know I should check for traps. But I am too happy to want to bother. I tell myself I don’t have the time anyways, which isn’t really a lie. Thankfully, this time, the dark-lord has mercy on my foolishness.

I try to keep track of time as we ascend the staircase that cuts into the ceiling of the previous chamber. I’m a bit foggy about time these days, but I am actually counting every second as accurately as I can. In the end, by the time I see a bright yellow light shining down over us, I have reached about fifteen minutes. I can’t say if I was counting too fast or too slow, though.

I recognize this glow however. Could it be? With bated breath, I sprint up these last few steps with my friends still awkwardly shambling behind myself. They are out of breath from all the stairs. It’s exhausting, especially if you have never climbed any before. The stairs end in a dead-end with a slit in the wall, through which light seeps in an almost otherworldly fashion.

Pressing my face against it, I see a familiar sight. I feel a joy in my chest. I know this place. But… I fumble around feeling the wall. There has to be a way to open it. To get in. There has to b-

I hear the sound of something turning, looking back I see the sister pulling a lever that I have missed. In an instant the wall before me grinds open. My eyes go wide with happiness. With relief. Stepping forward out of the staircase, I look around the room I used to spend so much time in. The fourth lowest floor.

We’ve done it! We’ve gone up a floor!

All of us know what this means, we’ve done something no trash-mob has ever done in this dungeon. All of us grab hold of each other now and jump around in joy. I have let myself become infected by their childishness. I think I might be crying a little, but you don’t need to know that, guy. I am grateful to Zig’urk for finding such good friends. I am happy to not be alone at this moment.

I hear a strange sound I can’t place, like a beeping-tick, just once as my menu pops up again to the map like before. Again two goblin words fill the top row, together with a new message in goblin above.

New floor unlocked. Grand treasury. Ninety-seven.

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