After sleeping well in a soft bed, I descended from my rented room to the tavern's hall when the sun was already halfway hidden beyond the horizon. By then, the place was quite crowded, with almost two-thirds of the tables occupied. The residents of Silver Meadow were well-off enough to enjoy a leisurely evening over a pint of ale. The tavern thrived; three young maids scurried between the tables, efficiently serving drinks to all the patrons. As soon as I entered the hall, the tavern owner, who was standing behind the bar, quickly approached me and invited me to join a group of seven men at a large table in the corner. Two of them I recognized: the young sheriff and his uncle, who was seated at the head of the table.
Patrick immediately stood up and introduced me to the others as I approached. As Katasakh had mentioned earlier that day, the local team of tunnelers consisted of seasoned men, the youngest of whom was well over thirty. It seemed that Katasakh had indeed gathered experienced fighters around him who hadn't managed to overcome the First Wall. Those who had accepted that they would never ascend beyond Wootz. Convincing such men, usually preferring a measured life over adventures, could be challenging. However, money is a universal motivator, and I decided to focus on this aspect during our conversation.
After presenting my proposal for a joint clearing of Bogash's Tomb, I demonstrated the visualization of the "Pure Palm" achievement at Katasakh's request. Each of the men, except for the young sheriff, had cleared numerous dungeons in their lifetime and understood the difficulty of obtaining "Pure Palm." Coupled with my status as the Sheriff of the Book, this fact made a significant impression, and they listened attentively without interruption or immediate rejection.
"An expedition to Bogash's Tomb a week earlier," Katasakh said after I finished speaking, casting a heavy gaze over his team. "You know my stance on this. But I propose that everyone has their say. Who's for it, and who's against?"
"An extra week here or there – it doesn't make much difference," shrugged Dragan, a stocky warrior with a massive one-bladed two-handed axe leaning against the wall behind him, which I would call a bardiche if the blade were just half a palm bigger. "We'll have to go there anyway, whether Katasakh or I like it or not. And in this raid, we'll be eight instead of six, meaning we'll clear it faster. I'm in favor."
"Khe-khe," coughed the tall, lanky blond man sitting next to Dragan, the same Lomerak who suffered from night coughs, as mentioned earlier by Katasakh. "I hate those undead, truly, and hacking at them while holding my breath, afraid to inhale, is not something I enjoy. But I've been wanting to replace my bull-bladder windows with real glass for a while. So, I'm for it."
Laughter and snide remarks filled the room, and from Dragan's side comment, it became apparent that Lomerak's wife had long been nagging him about replacing their windows to match Katasakh's home, showing everyone in their village and the neighboring settlements that they lived just as well.
"I wouldn't mind some extra silver," answered the youngest of the local tunnelers, Patrick's maternal cousin.
"I would never forgive myself if I miss the chance to raid a dungeon with a warrior who dared to achieve the 'Pure Palm' and, most importantly, succeeded," said a short, lean man in his forties, introduced to me as Aklak, an air element mage. He respectfully nodded towards me. "It'll be a story to tell my grandson when he grows up. And Sigerik is right, silver is never amiss. So I'm fully 'for'."
"It's easy for you to say, your job during the clearing of the Tomb is to stand at the back and maintain an Air Wall to prevent infectious air from penetrating the corridor," retorted a medium-height fighter, who had started balding. "You don't have to slash through decaying flesh, constantly fearing that you'll hit a rotten growth and get sprayed with infectious slime."
"If it's so easy for me, then let's switch," bristled Aklak, "you, Burn, can also control Air, so maybe you should hold the Air Wall?"
"Enough!" bellowed Katasakh, slamming his palm on the table. "Don't start your squabbles here in front of our esteemed guest! Burn, your answer?"
"I don't know. Why are you all looking at me? I really don't know. My answer depends on the share that Om Raven requests. Without him, as usual, we'd barely inspect more than one crypt, and even then only hastily, not taking much out."
Everyone immediately turned towards me. It was clear that the main issue here was the division of shares. Such a case, where one person, thanks to some unique talent, allows the group to extract more resources from the dungeon than usual, is not detailed in the Guild's Code. Therefore, the loot distribution had to be decided beforehand based on personal agreements.
If not for my status as the Sheriff of the Book, I would have asked for half and then, after desperate bargaining, gradually lowered my share to something acceptable for everyone. But that wouldn't work in this case. No one would bargain with me, as they believe I am marked by Ishid himself. Moreover, as the guild's sheriff, my word, especially regarding loot distribution, would not be challenged. If I ask for too much, they won't argue with me; they'll simply refuse. But I don't want to undersell my help either. Now, gauging the mood around the table, I'm sure that if I demand half, the expedition will not happen. But if I ask for a quarter, I might lose out.
"One-third for me, two-thirds for you, and you can divide your share as you wish," I finally said after a minute of thought.
Hearing my words, the tunnellers quickly exchanged glances among themselves, then turned their gazes to Katasakh, apparently leaving the final say to him. As I thought, no one argued with me about the size of the share, and now I just had to wait, hoping I hadn't been too greedy. Despite having a considerable amount of gold by Ain's standards hidden in my belt, my financial situation could be considered precarious, especially since I was likely to travel through Sundbad's Gates, first back to the Belgan region, then somewhere closer to Pentapolis. That's precisely why I was so keen on the opportunity to clear this Tomb.
It seemed that the crypts in this dungeon hadn't been thoroughly cleared for a long time. According to Katasakh, his group, at best, tried to search only one of the crypts, leaving the rest untouched. This meant there was a good chance of finding a lot of silver or even gold. If I'm right, and most of the crypts in this dungeon haven't been cleared for years, if not decades, then a significant haul could very well be a reality.
Katasakh remained silent for about three minutes, apparently pondering and weighing options, and then, with a heavy sigh, shook his head and, placing his calloused hands on the table, said:
"Alright, I bow to the majority."
"Yesss!" exclaimed Patrick, speaking up for the first time during this impromptu council.
"We haven't decided about you yet," Katasakh immediately growled at him. "We promised the count to take you to the Stone Grotto and Slime Chamber; the Tomb wasn't mentioned in that agreement."
"But…" Patrick started to object, but upon meeting his uncle's stern gaze, he quickly fell silent.
"When shall we go? In the morning?" asked Dragan, rubbing his hands.
"Why wait so long? Besides, I won't be able to sleep well tonight anyway," objected the Air mage. "We gather and go, it's less than an hour's leisurely walk."
"I agree with Aklak," nodded Lomerak. "But we need to prepare..."
The tunnellers' brief argument concluded with the decision to head out that night, but not immediately – we would set off in a couple of hours. This arrangement suited me fine. As for Patrick, Katasakh eventually decided to take him with the group, but only after extracting a sworn promise from him to be careful, not to rush into danger, and to unconditionally follow the commands of the more experienced tunnellers.
When everyone dispersed to prepare for the dungeon expedition, I didn't just sit around. Going out into the tavern yard, I stretched and warmed up thoroughly. I performed several exercise routines and then, taking a spear in hand, engaged in a few "duels" with an imaginary opponent. Local children watched my warm-up closely, hiding behind a low fence. They weren't bothering me, so I didn't chase them away.
Later, Patrick joined me, asking to show and teach him one of the routines he didn't know. After half an hour of joint exercises with the young sheriff, at his request, we sparred a couple of times. The count's bastard turned out to be quite a decent swordsman, far better than Vidar and Hjerta, whom I had recently encountered, so the training was beneficial for me as well. Fully aware that my main advantage was my longer weapon, Patrick persistently tried to close the distance between us. However, time after time, I thwarted his attempts, either by executing a series of attacks on his legs or by allowing him to get close before swiftly counterattacking, using Striking Whisper like a staff. In the end, over the course of five training bouts, Patrick failed to reach me even once, though I had to break a sweat to achieve such a result.
Not only the children but also the tunnellers who had returned to the tavern observed our final training session. Therefore, I deliberately prolonged this "fight" a bit to vividly demonstrate my spear-wielding level to them. Apparently, I achieved my goal, as after my weapon, tracing a swift arc, bypassed Patrick's block and stopped at the young sheriff's throat, I heard several approving claps from the tunnellers.
After finishing the training, I washed up and checked if I had taken all my potions with me, then joined the locals who were ready to set out. Bogash's Tomb was indeed not very far from the village, only about seven kilometers away, nestled in a dense forest that sprawled beyond the hills rising to the west of the settlement.
Sending the rest of the group a little ahead, Katasakh came up to me and, in a leisurely but thorough manner, told me about the Tomb and the monsters that could be encountered within. According to him, the dungeon was "inhabited" by four different types of undead.
The most common were the zombie warriors. They were relatively slow but quite difficult to kill. The main challenge in fighting them was that their bodies were covered in numerous rotting growths. If such a growth was damaged, it would immediately explode, spreading infectious and poisonous filth around. Moreover, at the moment of explosion, the zombie warrior would instantly "heal" all the damage it had previously received. The situation was complicated by the fact that these zombies were clad in old, rusted armor that was still fairly strong in places, with rotting, slime-filled growths protruding through the gaps. The most effective way to put them to rest was classic beheading, but due to the strength of their bones, even chopping off a zombie's neck was not an easy task; one had to strike precisely between the vertebrae.
The second type of undead were archers, or more precisely, skeleton archers. Killing them was significantly easier than the zombies, and their bones were not as sturdy as those of the flesh-covered dead, but one first had to reach them without getting hit by their shots. Each arrow shot by a skeleton carried one of Nulgle's curses on its tip. The comforting factor in this situation was that the crypts were not very large in size, so it was relatively easy to reach these archers even with spells of limited range.
The third type of undead in the Tomb turned out to be Dark Souls. These were bodiless specters wielding black magic, impervious to ordinary steel. Katasakh usually took them on, shooting them with enchanted arrows made in the Temple of Dawn Glimmer, which I was familiar with. While explaining this, the grey-haired tunneller emphasized the importance of collecting all the fired arrows after the battle, as losing even one of these magical tips would be a significant loss for him.
Additionally, in the Tomb, one could encounter the risen servants of the god of Plague. These creatures were found only in the three largest crypts, and their mere presence significantly strengthened all the other undead. Besides these enhancements, each servant was a mage of one of the five Elements. It was impossible to predict in advance which particular magic a servant would use, so entering one of the larger crypts, one could never be sure whether to expect a "fireball" or a "cone of cold," a "wind blade" or a "direct lightning," or perhaps heavy stones falling from the ceiling.
This was an unpleasant assortment of foes, seemingly gathered together specifically to ensure that clearing this dungeon wouldn't be an easy task for the tunnellers. However, it was comforting to know that the Tomb belonged to the first, the "simplest," type of dungeons. This meant it had no boss, and its layout never changed, remaining the same from one clearing to the next. To reset this dungeon, all the undead residing there, from the zombie warriors to the undead servants of the god of Plague, had to be destroyed.
Additionally, a troublesome aspect was that the Dark Souls possessed a spell called "Corroding Orb," a weaker version of the magic that Molly Moon had used against me. Upon impact, this "orb" would disintegrate metal. Due to this, the tunnellers didn't bring iron or steel armor on the expedition to the Tomb, preferring ordinary gambesons. Armor made from avalonium could counter such magic, but despite the wealth of Katasakh's group, they couldn't afford such expensive gear. This nuance spared me any questions like "Where's your chainmail or other armor?" as it was assumed that, since they chose to enter the dungeon in cloth armor, I simply followed their example.
We walked through a fairly dark forest dominated by closely packed spruces, which was unusual for this region. Moving between the hills, staying in the lowlands as Katasakh advised, was a bit longer but easier since we didn't have to push through windfalls. This forest was infamous among the locals, so ordinary peasants rarely collected firewood here, and if they did, they stayed on the outskirts, never venturing deep into the thicket. Of course, the dungeon was to blame, as living near a place infested with undead always spawns various terrifying tales and bogeyman stories. However, if the Tomb ever reached Overflow, these scary stories could easily become reality. That's why tunnellers are needed, to ensure this never happens.
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The Entrance to the dungeon appeared quite unexpectedly. We were walking, circling a tall hill, and after turning a corner of the path, one side of this hill seemed to be sliced off, as if a careless giant had swung an axe and cleaved it in half. It was split in such a way that one side revealed rocky strata, and the dungeon's entrance gates, appearing ghostly in the dim night light, became visible.
When our small squad reached the clearing in front of the Entrance, Katasakh stopped and first delivered what was clearly a routine introduction, spoken by nearly every captain before a new expedition. Then, for Patrick and me, who were entering this dungeon for the first time, he explained in more detail the tactics of clearing that the local tunnellers were accustomed to. For ordinary crypts, their group used the following strategy: Aklak and Katasakh stayed at the doorway, with the Air mage maintaining an Air Wall to prevent infectious air from entering and contaminating the corridor. The captain's task was to locate a Dark Soul in the semi-darkness quickly and hit it with an enchanted arrow. Meanwhile, the other four, holding their breath, would burst into the crypt and subdue as much of the undead as they could without inhaling the infected air.
After the initial assault, when this group ran out of breath, they would retreat behind the Air Wall. At this point, Katasakh would draw his sword, and for a few seconds, while the others caught their breath, he would hold off the zombies trying to break out and cross the threshold of the crypt into the corridor. Such a breach by the undead, even if just one zombie escaped from the crypt, would instantly lead to contamination of the air in the corridor. If this happened, the continuation of the dungeon clearing would become significantly more difficult, and the tunnellers would suffer a financial loss as they had to use quite expensive potions, blessed by the priests of Antares, to counteract the infection they had inhaled. Such incidents, despite the experience and coordination of the group, occurred pretty regularly, about once in every three clearings. This mostly happened when Katasakh failed to destroy the Dark Soul with his first shots. It was manageable if this occurred during the clearing of the final crypts, as the group would then incur relatively small financial losses. But if such an incident happened in one of the first crypts, the rest of the expedition turned into a real nightmare. Upon completion, one could contract a disease that could only be cured in the Temples of Light. And even then, sometimes, the priests of Antares couldn't completely help with the treatment. The example of Katasakh, who aged fifteen years in a week, was a stark illustration of this.
After a brief council, it was decided that we would clear the first crypt as the locals were accustomed to, with the only difference being that I would join the assault team, and Patrick would stay with Katasakh and Aklak to cover the archway separating the crypt from the main corridor. If everything went relatively smoothly, we might make some adjustments to this usual tactic. The outcome would depend on Patrick's and my performance. Having rechecked our belts and pouches for all the necessary potions and inspected our weapons, after a brief formal prayer to Antares, we all placed our palms on the Dungeon Gate.
"8 out of 12?" The familiar inscription appeared before my eyes. Once I mentally confirmed my desire to enter the dungeon, the Gate flashed with bright light, and our group was transported inside.
Inside the Tomb, everything was as one would expect in such a place. There was dim light, dry, stale air, and an oppressive sensation of Darkness surrounding us from all sides.
The place where we found ourselves after passing through the Dungeon Gate was a slightly curving corridor with walls made of massive, smooth stone blocks as large as a bull and a ceiling twice the height of a man. The corridor was wide enough for a dozen warriors to march shoulder to shoulder. The dim light from oil lamps placed a meter below the ceiling was barely sufficient to make out the expressions on the faces of the nearby tunnellers. When the young sheriff suggested lighting a couple of torches, Katasakh hissed that it was better not to do so, as there was no need to disturb what dwelt here prematurely.
Since this dungeon was static, its geometry and architecture never changed, remaining the same from one clearing to the next. The corridor in which we stood, with its bend, ultimately formed something like a horseshoe. On its right side were a dozen small crypts that had to be cleared first to gain access to the three large tombs.
After listening to Katasakh's instructions and reminders for the third time in the last half hour and leaving the woven baskets at the Entrance, we finally moved forward. I was third in line, right behind Dragan and Sigerik, with the rest of the group behind me. We saw the first branch-off almost immediately, barely thirty steps in. This corridor, about a quarter as wide as the main passage and slightly curving, stretched for about ten meters and led to the first crypt. The crypt itself was a rectangular room approximately ten by fifteen meters. Near its center, six massive granite columns rose from floor to ceiling, and each wall was carved with deep niches housing ancient stone sarcophagi, cracked with age.
At Katasakh's sharp, short command, we burst into the crypt. As soon as Dragan, leading the way, crossed an invisible line, a large altar hidden behind the columns spontaneously ignited. Its light not only failed to dispel the dense semi-darkness but seemed to make it even thicker. Simultaneously, the lids of the sarcophagi in the wall niches started to move.
The tunnellers were evidently experienced in clearing this dungeon. Before the nearest zombie warriors could even rise from their stone coffins, two fighters were already upon them, chopping at the dead flesh like seasoned woodcutters. For the first five seconds, I simply looked around without intervening, as agreed with Katasakh. Unlike the zombies in Earth's movies, portrayed as slow, clumsy, and therefore not very dangerous monsters, the undead of Ain were far from simple foes. Their dead flesh resisted steel, and many injuries that would be fatal to the living were mere scratches to them. Moreover, these were Wootz zombie warriors, each capable of easily killing a dozen common fighters of the Copper or Wooden ranks. These undead creatures looked truly revolting. Rotting flesh, foul smell, and some of them had purulent boils instead of eyes. Each zombie was armed with something, often two-handed swords, less frequently battle axes. The unpleasant sight was compounded by the fact that these now-rising dead had apparently been buried in full military regalia. So, even after many centuries, their bodies were still covered by rusty and frail armor, which nevertheless provided some protection to about half of the dead bodies.
The first two monsters never managed to leave their sarcophagi. Working in pairs, our group of four tunnellers quickly and confidently chopped them up, eventually beheading them. While they were busy with that, the rest of the zombies managed to rise from their graves and immediately assaulted us. Covering Dragan's left side, I delivered an ascending strike with the blade of my spear beneath the knee of the nearest zombie. The Striking Whisper effortlessly sliced through the rotting flesh but, upon encountering the bone of the undead creature, emitted a disappointed ring and recoiled as if it had struck granite, not bone. Such a wound would have ended the fight for any living warrior, as it's hard to fight when all the muscles are severed from your leg and the bone is exposed. But the Wootz zombie seemed not even to notice the damage and continued its attack. Fortunately, Dragan was an experienced fighter and, detecting the threat in time, managed to parry the powerful blow.
This mistake shook me up and made me take the matter more seriously. A precise and sharp strike with my spear at the blade of a two-handed axe, and the zombie couldn't block in time, allowing a wide swing of Sigerik's bastard sword to reach its target, beheading the undead warrior. Following the agreement with Katasakh, during the clearing of the first crypt, my main task was to not interfere with the group's work. Therefore, I stayed behind the four tunnellers, acting as a support fighter. Fortunately, the length of my spear allowed me to be useful even in this role. Sometimes, I would obstruct a zombie from timely defending against one of the tunnellers' strikes, and other times, a sharp jab would prevent one of the undead from closing the distance and launching a surprise attack.
Katasakh himself, although he was in an archway and did not enter the crypt, was also not idle. Of the four skeleton archers that had emerged from graves near the farthest wall, two were already lying on the floor as piles of bones after arrows with wide moon-like tips decapitated them. The remaining two undead archers hid behind columns and shot haphazardly, almost without aiming, causing their shots to miss their targets. Nevertheless, the threat of receiving an arrow in the side while engaged in combat with zombies clearly restrained the tunnellers' movements. They had to fight in such a way that at least one zombie warrior was always between them and the skeleton archers, thereby preventing them from aiming.
As for the Dark Soul, I sensed the shadowy entity almost immediately, even before the first zombie rose. This sense of presence was blurry, indistinct, as if the numerous shadows cast by the light of the braziers couldn't coalesce into something whole and unified. With each passing second during the fight, this sensation became more and more substantial, and this "weight" began to press on my shoulders, hung on my arms like weights, making movements difficult and slow. After the first minute, despite my promise not to intervene, to rid myself of this otherworldly burden, I felt an urge to rush forward, break through the line of zombies, and strike with Striking Whisper, having imbued its tip with Light, at the group of shadows that unnaturally condensed behind one of the central columns of the crypt. But about a second before I did so, an arrow whistled over my shoulder, its tip appearing unnaturally bright for such dim lighting. The arrow flashed, the supernatural pressure disappeared instantly, and the shadows that had gathered into one dark clump dispersed into their components, starting to behave as they should.
At that very moment, a short command was issued, and the four tunnellers who had burst into the crypt with me first fiercely pressed on the zombies, giving themselves a bit of maneuvering room, and then jumped back, falling behind me. Right next to me stood Katasakh, who slung his bow over his shoulder and drew his sword, and Patrick. Our team's task was not to lay to rest as many zombies as possible but simply to hold out while the main group of four tunnellers caught their breath.
However, it didn't take much time for Dragan, Sigerik, Lomerak, and Burn to step back, pass through the Wind Wall maintained by Aklak, take a couple of deep breaths, and refill their lungs with oxygen. Our trio held back the onslaught of zombie warriors for just half a minute, and then, after Dragan's shout, Katasakh and Patrick, who were covering me from the sides, retreated, and the assault quartet took their place. Throughout this time, there was only one particularly challenging moment, when the young sheriff, eager to prove himself, tried to behead a zombie that carelessly exposed itself. He didn't just try; he succeeded, but in doing so, he left himself open. If not for the deflection of a blow by my spear, the rusty sword in the undead hand would have left a life-threatening wound on the young and hot-headed county sheriff's side. Patrick, so engrossed in the fight, didn't even realize his mistake. Apparently, Katasakh knew about his nephew's hot temper and thirst for glory, hence his earlier reluctance to take him on expeditions to the Tomb.
Twice more, the assault quartet fell back behind me, and each time, the tunnellers needed increasingly more time to catch their breath. If half a minute sufficed the first time, the second time, they rested for about forty-five seconds, and the last change stretched to a full minute. But since only about a fifth of the original number of the undead remained by that time, it was even easier to withstand this minute break than the first onslaught.
I could have quickly finished off the remaining zombies during the third shift alone, but I held back because of the promise I made to Katasakh: during the clearing of the first crypt, I was to observe more and refrain from any solo actions, getting accustomed to how the local tunnellers operate. Because of this, I had to suppress the itch in my hands and, only after waiting for the striking group to re-enter, join them in the offensive and finish off the remnants of the undead warriors.
When the last of the risen dead settled on the dirty floor as a shapeless heap of bones and rotting flesh, following Katasakh's command, we all retreated behind the Air Wall. The assault quartet, as soon as they crossed the magical barrier maintained by Aklak, immediately dropped their weapons and, leaning heavily against the walls, began to breathe greedily and frequently. An ordinary person can easily hold their breath for a minute, and in the same time, a trained athlete can run almost half a kilometer. But trying to combine these two feats, that is, to run half a kilometer while holding your breath, would be impossible even for Olympic champions. And fighting while constantly risking a sharp blade in the stomach is much harder than just running. So, I perfectly understood the condition of the four tunnellers who had to repeat this feat several times. Unlike them, I looked fresh and full of energy, as my absolute immunity to any diseases meant I didn't need to hold my breath.
"Thank you for covering Patrick," Katasakh said, pulling me aside.
"He's trying too hard to prove himself," I shared my observation.
"That's exactly why I didn't want to take him to the Tomb," the archer frowned. "I noticed your spear isn't very effective against zombies. Don't you want to switch it for a sword?" He nodded towards one of the baskets we had brought in hope of future loot. "We have a spare one, if needed."
"I have another proposal," I said, leaning on Striking Whisper.
"I'm listening."
"I've seen how you clear the crypts and understood the process. But I suggest we clear the next crypt my way."
"And how is that?"
"All the other crypts in the dungeon are laid out the same as this first one, right?"
"Correct."
"Then it won't be difficult. Let Aklak hold the Wind Wall in the middle of the corridor leading to the crypt, and let Dragan, Sigerik, Burn, and Lomerak stand in front of it, but not enter the crypt themselves. Their task will be simple: to prevent any zombies that get past me from breaking through the magical barrier.
"I don't understand," Katasakh asked, scratching his chin. "Then who will clear the crypt?"
"Me," I replied shortly and to the point.
"Alone?!"
"Yes, it will be easier for me that way."
"So, you mean you'll enter the crypt alone and take out all the zombies, skeletons, and the Dark Soul?" Katasakh asked incredulously, looking older than his years.
"Exactly."
"If I hadn't seen your achievement 'Pure Palm of Five Empty Fingers,' I'd think you had lost your mind," Katasakh said, looking me straight in the eye.
"Since I'm not afraid of getting sick, I don't need to hold my breath. That's the first thing. And secondly, being alone in the crypt, I can fully utilize my skills without fear of accidentally hitting any of your team."
We were speaking loudly enough for all the other tunnellers to hear, and while Katasakh silently processed my words, Aklak spoke up:
"Let him try; I'd like to see that!"
"Yeah, right! And then we'll be blamed for sending a Sheriff of the Book to certain death!" Burn objected.
"If a man wants to die, he'll find a way to break his neck anyway," Aklak replied with a smirk.
"I don't plan on ending my journey today," I shrugged. "It'll indeed be easier this way."
"I repeat," Aklak grinned, "I'd like to see it."
"And I would too," Patrick supported him, but quickly fell silent under his uncle's stern gaze.
"If I don't have to enter the crypts again today," Dragan said, detaching himself from the wall and breathing heavily, "then I'm for it. I don't know about you, but I felt Raven was holding back, trying more to adapt to our rhythm than fighting at full strength."
"Yes, I got the same impression," Sigerik agreed.
A heated debate ensued among the tunnellers, and as far as I could tell, only Katasakh and Burn were against my proposal. Lomerak abstained, while the rest were in favor. Aklak and Patrick were curious, and Dragan was happy to take fewer risks himself. Eventually, after quite a long argument, Katasakh gave in and, turning to me, said:
"Alright, let's try it your way."