The basking sun had disappeared. Its gentle warmth was pushed aside, replaced by the dry heat which to the request of no one, had been putting scorch all around. Thankfully he had a good sense to install several freezing runes in the shop before, otherwise with how limited the ventilation options that were available in this world, the day would be way, way more sufferable.

Having settled Clar’s consternation somewhat (he sent Ed to the guild to ask them about Sir Tellin’s availability), he should have quite ample time to proceed with today’s rundown just before tonight’s service.

The [Winterfount Drops] glimmered in his hand. From his inventory depth, the mana-lit gem gleamed in shades of blue — teal, aquamarine, and turquoise. Shifting from one to another depending on which angle it was observed. At least to his eyes. To his sense, it mimicked more of a ...diamond. Its facets, cut in pear, sparked fires of oddly distended pink. No, not just a plain pink — bubblegum pink mixed with gold and copper-gold on all of its angles.

He had a mind to investigate the wonder. Not how to use it, he wasn’t a barbarian — ‘the how’ had been thoroughly explained to him by Lady Crystal. What he meant was its inner working — the gear, magic, geometric and everything else that made the gem did its things. Sadly, duty preceded curiosity. Therefore, facing the open metallic tank as high as his waist, he channeled his mana toward the gem — casting the spell.

“[Create Distilled Water]!”

“Oh wow…”

The peeled orb in front of him poured —gushed. If using the spell before was akin to pouring water from a cup of a jug (heavy at the beginning and spouted only trickles) now it was more of a garden hose (easily controllable with a nozzle and blathered the liquid in droves).

Not even a minute had passed before the tank was filled to brim. Spending a mere 10% of his mana while it would deplete up to 30% before.

“Now let see how much I could get with this...”

Hammering thirty pebbles, he quickly put half of the crushed pebble inside the control — the exact replica of the previous setup where he accidentally created the mana-aspected water before. Well, an almost replica. He used the 2L beaker this time and adjusted the volume and the size proportionally.

The rest of the pebbles he divided between two smaller sets. The first one was the one that was given less volume of water with the same amount of pebbles (to investigate if he could get higher grade mana-aspected water). While the second one was the one that was given the same volume and the same amount of pebbles but without the presence of the pins to determine if the pins were the required catalysts.

There were lots of variables still to be determined of course; whether perfect insulation of glass was a requirement, whether all the pins worked in concert, or if the effect could be recreated by a single or combination of two and more pins. You knew, things he loved to investigate if the expense weren’t so dreadful.

Therefore, this time he’d try an idea that had been on him the moment he realized he birthed another accident. It was simple really, a piece of cork, a length of string, and a fragment of the crushed pebbles. Just one of them to be tied and dipped inside the mana-aspected water.

Simple right? He didn’t even need to keep a close eye on the experiment. Just leave it be for hmm… three days? Give or take one day. So yeah… he better started— err?

“Huh...”

“Since when?”

By the status screen right topmost corner, a red dot was blinking. On and off, on and off like the first time the WP system activated. The pulse was rather slow, true. The off-phase lasted for three whole seconds before it returned to on, but it was weird that he missed it, he usually had good attention.

...ah. The inventory. Since the immediately useful part of the status screen was just his inventory (his skill tree required a not-healthy stay on the darkquake), he hadn’t really given the screen a stare for a long while. Not to mention his ‘bag’. Since rummaging empty air in front of so many people was of course, dangerous (dissected-kidnapped dangerous) he had been using his bag to masked that he was taking stuff from his inventory. Which of course, meant that he was never really looking at the status screen anymore — he could do it by touch.

Still, the question remained the same… “Should or should not I?”

Clar was with Leo upstairs… The good dog had forgone his usual sleeping to keep her occupied. Practice swing, practice chase, the likes. And he secured all the potions on the storage room so besides some scuff and probably a broken plank or two the store should be fine. The mana-aspected water production also already going. The perpou… well, the extract was in final evaporation. Which was six hours long. That leave…

The experiment. “Let just finish it quick…”

Filled it full, tied it here, tied it there, closed at this place, placed it in the corner, secured it, and done! He nodded, satisfied.

Three minutes and twenty two seconds later he was sitting in front of an empty table. A heap of sheaves and freshly prepared inks were the only two items placed there. In case he needed to note something. This was the second time the red blinking dot appeared. And he was a bit too giddy on the first one, so this time — this time he’d be prepared.

“Here we go...”

With a trembling hand and a bated breath, he pressed the red blinking dot. Different from the status screen usual boop, this one gave a beep. He wrote it down.

Then the red blinking dot disappeared. Like the first time, he pressed the dot, another screen —the notification screen— popped. It flashed yellow.

“You have obta—whoa!”

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 12 WP.

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 3 WP.

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 2 WP.

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 3 WP.

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 2 WP.

NOTIFICATION: YOU HAVE OBTAINED 5 WP.

...

It went on and on until the last two boxes that said he had obtained 10 and 14 WP respectively. He meant he had the question since the first time the WP got activated. Which was… what was WP?

Well, if he remembered correctly the information was on the ...“Status!”

Name: Euca [REDACTED]

Current Title: Otherworldly Traveler (Hidden), Lucky One (Equipped), Traveler

Status : [LOCKED - ACTIVATED]

Skill : [PARTIALLY UNLOCKED - STAGE 0]

Inventory : [PARTIALLY UNLOCKED - STAGE 0]

???? : [INSUFFICIENT AUTHORIZATION]

???? : [INSUFFICIENT AUTHORIZATION]

WP: STAGE 0 (77/100)

There! 77/100 WP. Before the WP system activated it just said stage 0, same as the skill and inventory; stage 0 without further explanation. But now, there was a number — 77 out of 100.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Euca meant he wasn’t an expert on this magical gobbledygook, however even a ten-year-old could recognize a progress bar when it displayed so clearly in front of them. The question was, Euca asked, how did exactly he got the WP?

The answers didn’t come of course. Those were the nature of genuine questions. The one that was asked because the asker had not a clear answer. Unlike exams’ or rhetorical ones, the genuines’ left the one who got them confused. Thus it was said, having an answer obvious in front of you was a blessing.

A sentiment that a certain rogue could very much agree.

"Stop."

The rogue shouted, his hand stretched like meide’s wings; straight and with both of the palm angled inward. He gave a glance back. It wasn’t needed but those were the rules. You obeyed them — the good ones. They were made to save your life. So like a good rogue, he shut his mouth and turned back, nodding satisfied when he saw that everyone had stopped. Good. He’d kick those who hadn’t. In his opinion, anyone who didn’t respect rogues who did the guild’s recommended pose for their team deserved not just one but two kicks. One in the head and the other one in the jugular. Probably with the added bonus of spiking their gailen with salt for a whole week. He meant It was a great sacrifice that his class needed to look like a drunken gnome every time they reminded the rest of the party that there were traps. But hey it saved lives.

Newbies often ‘forgot’ that they needed to do the pose. Or the shout, or the exaggerated stop. Some even thought that it wasn’t necessary. Ark-damned embarrassing, he heard it said once. And it wasn’t like he didn’t understand that sentiment. He was those kids once. Brooding, lone drake kind of guy — hanging on the bar, sipping bad gailen — killing time. That was what made him a rogue in the first time. The allure that you got paid being you.

But the pose, the shout, the awkward stuff existed for a good reason. The dungeon was loud. Damn loud. You thought hearing five-six boots tapping wouldn’t tire your ear? Of course, it would, dummy. Not to mention that in a battle the vanguard rivaled the market days with their clinking armor, the mage blasting everything with their whooshing-bam-bam fireball, the monsters screaming for their lives — it was endless! Without shouting and a very ‘attention-catching’ pose no one would notice that you had managed to pinpoint a freaking trap. What do you think you should do? Telling the leader politely that ten steps ahead were a poison spray? Hilarious. You do that and your mage would get three arrows lodged into his torso by the next breath and before you knew it the delve was canceled.

Before he joined Emmy and Rene, that was his fate. Not that he could do anything, he was a standard merc. On job-off job doing small quests. He dreamed that he could have his own party one day of course, but so far, no one clicked. So he filled the time with incursion, kobold hunting, odd errands — the stuff. But the big coins — ten and up came from clearing the traps on third. Twenty if it was the sixth. And minimum fifty for the ninth for each of them. Them. Because only a trapmaster was allowed to work alone on the ninth. He did it four times if his memory served him correctly. Which was lucky cause even the best party around only ventured to seventh. Deeper and it was becoming too costly.

People always thought that trap-finding was something wonderful and magical. He could assure you while he loved the job, it wasn’t. Not in the sense it wasn’t wonderful or magical because yes, there were magic traps (those were the worst). It wasn’t magical because, wait for it, the people.

Yes, the people.

Light knew he lost count how many hotheaded newbies (it always newbies) who despite his good ministration, charged first like a damn fool.

His mentor’s mentor even had it written. Your first delve: Starting an Adventure with A Brand New Party. He remembered the excerpt quite vividly:

It works like this: you keep your feet nimble and go first on any trap-known floors (for trap-unknown floors, refer to the second book ‘So You are Comfortable with Them Now: Venturing to the Unknown’). Keep your eyes open and double-check. Always double-check. Traps were designed to be invisible. Respect trap. People who say otherwise are dead. The same could happen to you if you don’t.

There are always times that your party as all people often are, becomes stupid. This is normal, people do stupid things. When the aloofs turned to drink the louds turned to drink naked. But there is a difference between running your mouth (also fist) on the bar and disregarding your counsel, particularly about things you’re specialized in. This is why feeling your new party is important. Permanent membership is not something that should be taken lightly.

To check if your party is sane, consider the following scenarios:

A) Trapmaster Rogue.

You’re a trapmaster rogue. Which if you’re one means that you should pass at least tertiary certification on your local adventurers’ guild. You should not only be familiar with the different coloration (visual-tell) of an impending pressure plate, but you should also be able to ‘hear’ (sound-tell) the difference between empty and filled flooring even on the noisy battlefield. You should also be able to sound-tell (preferably accompanied by similar wind-tell) if a hallway contained arrow holes. The point is, you should be the expert in your field to keep your party safe (at least from traps).

To check if your party is sane, ask this question:

* Do your party allowed you to do your job?

This might seems obvious. You’re hired to do a job so as follow they would allow you to do those job, right? Wrong. Like a plague, ego is the most horrible disease that often contracted people. One of the most common scenarios is your party’s vanguard objected that you are placed in front.

In this scenario, you should first, assume the best. Perhaps like you, it’s their first time too on the party (and afraid to be overshadowed by a trapmaster rogue). A bad move on their part but an understandable concern. Everyone has plates that need to be filled. To solve this, explain to him (we didn’t say the vanguard is always a he, but often he is a he) that it’s your job to make sure that the party doesn’t get trapped by the dungeon. If he understood then moves on and continues to do your job.

The problem happens if he continues. This means that your explanation was lacking or that he’s a freaking moron. Assume the latter for the second time. It’s time to cue your party’s leader. Cause he obviously also didn’t do his job keeping the vanguard in line.

However if after this polite course had been dutifully explored and the vanguard still disturbs you from doing your job, then let him be. The first pitfall, preferably the one without spikes and poison (as he is still your responsibility) hopefully will smack a reason to his thick head. Remember to leave the party by the end of the delve because you had been working in a dysfunctional party. Or not. It’s your life and largely, your decision. But we strongly recommended that you do.

Musing and smiling, he glad he heeded the book’s advice. That was why he joined Emmy of course — The Winged Lance listened.

Making sure once more that everyone had stopped, he proceeded to stand and rummaged haversack — taking a handful of marbles. They shone with dull luster of unrefined iron ores but blacker — heavier. The lead-made ball bearing rolled as he tossed them out.

Slowly and true to his prediction, one of them swooned left, entering the grooves near the wall before stopping. A couple sloped right, circling the raised edges of several uneven tiles. And at least one, moved so fast it reached the end of the hallway in a blink.

The last two though, those which fell down the last, seemed to be drawn to a dented tile five steps ahead, almost invisible, differing to its surrounding by only a hair depth.

Got it.

FWOOSH!

CRACK!

In a breath, hails of arrow spurned from the ceiling top. The force was so great that it left webs of cracked seams. Three of the arrows even stuck standing on the floor.

"Damn," Rene grumbled. "With how often those miners pass, you think the damn floor would be cleared already."

"That's not how it works, bud. You know third is a split," picking the leftover marble that seemed salvageable. He left that two ball-bearing inside the dented tiles though. Not a chance he was disturbing them. Even triggered traps were still traps. There was a cautionary tale of a copper-pinching rogue that tried to salvage her ball bearings. She lost two of her fingers to the poison that was coated in the pressure plate.

"I know. Is there any chance we could get grouped, though?"

"No. No tracks.”

"M—maybe we’ll get grouped in the next hallway?"

"Ha! I like that spirit Lyd!"

"T-thanks..."

"All clear?" Emmy asked him while he was tapping the floors — looking for sound-tells.

"Almost.” he replied, still tapping. “I think all the mundane one is."

"There’s a bit of mana haze over there, though.” he frowned, pointing to the left wall by the end of the hallway, around thirty paces from here. “Lene?"

"On it. [Detect Magic]!"

"Flamethrower...” the woman said, her eyes glowing. “Rune-based, life detect trigger."

"Power?"

"Upper tier 1. Low tier 2 at the most."

“Thanks, Lene!” he nodded at her. Partying with an enchanter was the best, no need to waste mana for a [Detect Magic]. Without her here he needed to take care not using anything but trap detecting skills. Doable, but, a pain to go through.

"Ooh!"

Uh—oh. Remember how the book told him that people often do stupid things. This was one of its prime examples.

"No."

Which thanks to Emmy, didn’t happen.

"I haven't say anything." Yeah, you kinda did, bud. He glanced at his stupid oaf of a friend. With that kind wagging, slobbering and that jumping up and down — light. He could see it.

Everyone could see it.

"Back."

"B—but.”

"I know what you’re thinking.” the woman said with emphasis. “You want to run there and take those fires, right?”

“Which you'll say that you'll be fine since you got [Greater Endurance]. And you’ll probably say that it’s good because your skill might improve."

"Em knows me so well!"

"While that’d works. I'm not. And by that I mean, I'm not going to spend another delve where you not only keep forgetting to groom yourselves but actively trying to make yourself smell worse!"

"Hey!" the man looked offended as if he was the incarnation of spring and leat. He shook his head, all the beastpeople he knew took a bath at least twice a day. Because, unlike his stupid friend, they realized that compared to hair, fur got smelly faster.

"Oskar?"

"Unfortunately Sire, I'm afraid Lady Emily might be correct in this case. Our provided [Predistigation] is helpless regarding singed fur."

"Fine..."

"Clem, can you disable it?"

"Sure give me a moment." Unclasping his inner mantle pocket, he took out a roll, thankful to Emmy’s iron grip on his troublesome husband.

The brown made leather revealed series of tools; hammers of various sizes, a chisel, a ball of string, a reveal stone, and a bottle of treated cold oil. This one was a second-tier though, so it should need nothing more than a chisel. Taking the said chisel, he could feel the ambient mana around his palm slowed down — cragged.

"Ugh, it's layered,"

Rolling his eyes, he stuffed the chisel back into his pocket and took another item from the roll; the palm-sized crystal. Pushing a bit of mana to the opaque stone, careful not to let it overflowed, the stone changed in color, the opaque became clear with a tinge of pink-ish haze.

Let see, misdirection line there, immediate trigger here. Seriously? Triple fireball trap? The dungeon getting awful lately.

Having determined where each runes were, he pocketed back the crystal, and with a chisel, he tapered the rune down, skipping the decoy layer.

"...and there!"

A straight gash across the sixth and the eighth strokes. And right as the bell, the mana flow slackened. Slackened, not stopped. For that, you need [Dispel] enchanted tools. His was only cold iron. Just enough to delay the runes from self-regenerating for at least a hundred breaths.

He really needed to take a refresher on intermediate enchantment. Almost miss it. If he cut in on the fifth stroke like he used to, it'd trigger a sudden mana inflow which would explode the rune on his face.

"Is it disarmed?"

"Yeah."

"All right, let's get out of here," said Emmy. He nodded as the party, his oafish friend included, sprinted toward the junction.