Skeelie had changed, or more accurately, it had returned to normal.

The merchant stands and crowds of merrymakers had thinned shortly after the conclusion of the festival. The high-ranking nobles were the first to leave the city, followed quickly by the visiting rankers.

A few tourists remained to partake in the afterglow of what Skeelie had to offer. But, the Labyrinth had been the biggest draw. With its future uncertain, Skeelie needed to reinforce other areas of its economy until a new dungeon heart appeared—however long that took.

A boisterous mood endured in the rowdiest parts of the city, where coin and drink flowed freely and the bookers operated their stalls. Even the high-end taverns retained a good number of patrons who wished to partake in gossip.

Out here in the Adventurer’s Guild, however, the mood was anything but buoyant. A large crowd gathered behind the guildhouse, staring at a field of tombstones. Of the one hundred and forty-four rankers who had entered the Labyrinth, only a little over fifty had returned alive.

Many of them stood now with other rankers, guild staff, and families of the deceased. They had no corpses to bury; such was the nature of a dungeon run. Each of the deceased instead occupied a spot on a tombstone alongside numerous others. A lot of the names had been added recently, evident in the fresh engravings. Many more, however, were victims of six other dungeon runs that preceded this one in recent memory.

The adventurers called this field The Cemetery of Broken Dreams. I liked to think of it as The Cemetery of Wasted Lives.

The death toll had soared in percentage this time around, mostly because of Byron whose name had unfortunately been added to a tombstone. None of the members of Red Wyrm deserved a spot here. But, time and place, Damien. Time and place.

This funeral was dreary enough without rightful indignation being added to the mix. The general sequence of events played out much differently from the ones back home—less colorful and musical—but unpleasant all the same.

I adjusted my top hat which I’d thrown alongside a cloak over the Night Scout Armor. I’d removed the armor exactly once since leaving the Labyrinth for reasons better not remembered. My height and complexion worked against me, however, because I easily stood out in a crowd. A few eyes wandered my way, whispering about the Hero of the Labyrinth.

Up ahead, a grim-faced Ezin continued the funeral rites. His dark robes obscured his chiseled abs for once, though his black hair remained as unruly as ever. He lifted a censer and walked around the tombstones, spreading incense. A solemn chorus went up as he did so, accompanied by a small group of clerics.

Ezin passed a tombstone bearing the names of the members of Glamring. The sole survivor of that party: a spiky-haired Skirmisher called Allen stiffened beside me. He had once looked like an idol cut out of the front cover of a K-pop magazine. Now? His gaunt cheeks and limp hair betrayed his grief.

The two of us had made our case against Red Wyrm to the guildmaster. Ezin had conveyed his trust in us, but optics was important. Byron’s betrayal would eventually be revealed to the rest of the city. However, mourning came first. Such scandals could easily destroy the Guild’s reputation at a time when it needed a show of strength. Promising regulars banked on the Guild’s clout to secure Specialization in the coming weeks.

I understood all that. And yet, I couldn’t stop the bile from rising in my throat as Ezin laid Byron to rest alongside those he had murdered. Paz and I would visit the cemetery later to vandalize his tombstone. It was only just desserts.

Speaking of Paz, he and Nicola had disappeared somewhere within the crowd. Aman was another notable absentee, and that worried me the most. The Unkulunki tribesman had vanished ever since the night of the festival, putting our honor duel on hold. Common sense had probably gotten through to him, but other issues remained.

Aman numbered among a handful of people who knew about the Traveler’s Room—a secret I’d refrained from sharing with any other, including Ezin. The guildmaster had spotted the inconsistencies in my retelling of events, but he didn’t pry too deeply. Kajal was, of course, another person who knew about the Traveler’s Room, and the one I longed to speak with the most.

Unlike the rest of us, she had known of its existence before entering the dungeon—a feat that made her the most informed person in all of Skeelie. Kajal probably had answers regarding [Migrant Soul]s and the cage at the bottom of the Labyrinth. However, she had also gone missing. How fast could all of them travel?

The chorus ended with the conclusion of the procession. After a brief eulogy, Ezin dismissed the crowd. I shared some kind words with Allen over the loss of his partner, and then I made my exit. Paz and Nicola knew where to find me.

Our dungeon business had not yet been concluded.

Liliana’s shop stood in a rundown alley in Skeelie’s business district, tucked away from prying eyes.

[Silhouette] slumbered beneath me as I maneuvered through the alleyways, unwilling to confront the heat of the sun. It had seen constant battle since the fight with Byron . . . an issue I didn’t want to think about.

The shadow monster roused briefly as I let myself out of the sun and into Liliana’s shop. It soon went back to sleep, finding nothing of interest.

Liliana glanced up at me from behind the counter. Her red hair looked as ruffled as ever, and her toned arms bulged out of the sleeves of her clothes. Pieces of armor, weapons, and other miscellaneous items lay scattered on the counter around her.

“What the hell are you wearing?” she asked.

I touched my cloak and top hat—neither of which went quite well with leather armor—and affected an affronted look. “What’s wrong with my attire?”

Liliana rolled her eyes. She returned her attention to the gear, all of which I had looted out of the Labyrinth. A long piece of parchment dangled from her hands with which she took stock.

The [Insight] perk had accompanied my transition to Silver: a technique that granted one the ability to sense aura and ranks. Liliana had no rank to speak of, but she still carried a different aura than the majority of the populace: the aura of a specialist.

She had now become a level 44 Merchant, two up from when we met.

“What?” she snarled upon noticing my gaze.

“For a half moment there,” I said, “you looked capable at what you do. I almost fell for it.”

“Haha,” she said drily.

“Well?” I placed a lump of meat on the counter. The same one I had looted from The Chimera: Amorphous Flesh. “Have you found any information about this yet?”

Liliana shook her head. “I have lots of interested buyers if you are ready to sell. But, I don’t think there’s a smith in this town or all of Bargheria who can successfully handle that item.”

“Bummer.”

“The same goes for that mirror of yours,” she said, referring to The Mirror of Remembrance. “I’m a fence, not a scholar, Damien. I can sell both for a pretty sum, but you’re not going to get any answers from my sources about their nature.”

“That’s fine,” I said, unwilling to relinquish possession of either item just yet. “How much would I get for the rest?”

Liliana glanced briefly at the hoard. “Two, maybe three gold pieces. Most of them are of good quality, but they aren’t ranker-grade save for a precious few.”

“How much would I get for them without your steep commission?”

“Oh, come on now. I value our business relationship. Why would I do anything to jeopardize it?”

I could think of many actions someone with the Merchant class could take to outsmart an idiot Assassin. And, if I could think of them, Liliana knew them too.

“Besides,” she continued, “you can’t say I don’t bring benefits to the table. Where else would you find someone like me?”

Which was true. As a former fence of the Thieves’ Guild, Liliana excelled in discretion. Her connections had helped me in my quest to quietly offload the dungeon heart for a massive thirty gold pieces.

How she had managed to do so without attracting undue attention boggled the mind. Three days had passed since the conclusion of the festival, and everyone in Skeelie assumed that I retained ownership of the dungeon heart.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“By the way,” Liliana said, “the client has communicated their satisfaction with the purchase. That was probably the best deal I have ever closed! We’re about to see a surge in business, Damien. A surge! You will do well to keep bringing me goodies.”

“You’re yet to reveal the identity of the client.”

Her features creased. “Stop asking. I’m never going to tell. We connect buyers to sellers, and goods to those who desire them while maintaining the anonymity of all persons involved. I won’t break the code.”

I held her gaze for a little while. “Very well. We have other business to discuss.”

“Oh? You are hiding another massive treasure that you wish to sell?”

“Are profits all that you think of?!” I took a deep breath and lowered my hat. “This time, I’m willing to buy. Get me everything you can find on displaced Heroes in Vizhima. Tomes, journals, grimoires . . . The rarer they are, the greater your reward.”

Liliana frowned. “Displaced Heroes? Like the ones from the stories of yore? The stuff of folktales?”

“The particular themes I’m searching for include reincarnation, transmigration, and the end of the world.”

Liliana regarded me cautiously. “You’re a strange elf, Damien.”

“I learned a lot in the Labyrinth.”

“Well, then. Challenge accepted! It should offer a change of pace from my usual routine. But, I’m going to expect more than just monetary compensation for my efforts. You’re going to give me a right of first refusal to any future treasures you find.”

“Valid only for one year,” I said.

“That works for me.”

We shook hands on the deal.

A [System] window opened with a mental command.

Quest: [Heroic Adventure]

You have been transported from another world! Gather strong allies and avert the Apocalypse.

Allies: 2/10.

Time remaining: 344 days.

One year was enough time to fulfill my deal with Liliana. But, it was also the only time I had.

Paz and I waited outside an imposing building for Nicola to appear.

The Archon Orphanage looked as depressing as the last time I’d been here with its faded stone walls, private guards, and eerie silence that betrayed nothing of its army of child prisoners. Nicola had been extremely nervous on the way to the orphanage, but she had steeled herself before walking through the threshold.

Paz studied the large building from our position across the street. He rested his back against a wall and let out a long whistle. “There are more enchantments in that building than there are around the entire city. The Archon Bank doesn’t mess around, but this is overkill.”

I tightened my fists. “It’s not something to be impressed with, Paz.”

“It is. Enchanters are some of the most desired specialists. However, none that I know of are capable of such work. We’re talking high-level specialists here, Damien. Level 70 and above. I didn’t know Skeelie possessed enough influence to attract such types.”

“The Archon Bank does.”

“Aye.” He glanced at the guards that defended the entrance. “Indentured servitude, huh? Doesn’t get worse than this.”

“They’re children, Paz.”

“. . . Which means absolutely nothing in Vizhima. If they can eat, they can work. And, if they can do that, they can earn their freedom. Trust me, the alternative is much worse.” He said the last part with sadness as if recalling a painful memory.

“Well, nothing about this makes it right,” I said. “Imprisoning children until they can legally be sold off is a ploy straight out of a villain’s handbook. I don’t care if it is lawful. The Archon Bank should burn.”

“Oh, I agree with your sentiment, alright. I care little for the Bank. This is one aspect I am willing to change about the world. The question is, are you?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Paz grinned in approval. “There are forces in this world, Damien. Forces that can obliterate us where we stand with as little as a thought. If we intend to best them, we must level up as soon as possible. Gold rank, next. Then, Platinum, Iridium, Adamantium . . . and, we shouldn’t stop there.”

“You wish to become a Herald?!”

“We should both attain that at a minimum.” Paz regarded me with unflinching eyes. “We’ll attract undue attention the further up we climb. Best to ensure our enemies think twice before crossing our paths.”

I mulled over his words. I had courted death more times than I could count in a bid to rise from Iron rank to Silver. Granted, all three of us had finally crossed the threshold, but what made Paz think that our luck would continue?

There had to be thousands, maybe even millions, of rankers out there with the same goal in sight. What made us better than all of them?

“Why do you care so much about this, Paz?” I finally asked. “About amassing power?”

Paz grimaced. He said nothing for a long while and contemplated his answer. “It’s because the last time I had power and failed to hold on to it, I lost everything important.” He stared at the sky. “I was naïve, Damien. Naïve to think that change could be enforced with steadfastness and gentle prodding. It earned me a knife to the back.”

He had power? When we met, he had only been level 13. Had something forced him to weaken? “What are you talking about, Paz? Were your parents some kind of nobility?”

Paz chuckled. “Nobility? Hah! The last thing anyone would accuse them of is being noble. I am but a mere vagabond, Damien. A vagabond who once longed for a better world. Now, I intend to destroy it.”

A small silence passed.

“By destroy,” I said, “you don’t mean in the sense of an apocalypse, right? You mean something more normal like toppling the world’s systems?”

“Same difference.” Paz shifted his red eyes from the sky and settled on me. “And, you? What is it you intend to accomplish? What did you see at the bottom of the Labyrinth?”

“You saw the same thing I did, Paz.”

“Explain it.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “There’s a creature trapped there; one which gains sustenance from the lives of slain rankers. If my theory is correct, one such creature should exist at the bottom of every dungeon.”

“That . . . contradicts all I’ve been taught. No one really knows who created the dungeons, but it is generally believed to be the work of ancient Heralds, going by the murals in the dungeons anyway. Why would the Heralds trap demons underneath?”

I had no answer. Not until I’d spoken to Kajal.

Paz scratched his chin. “You say, these monsters are sustained by the dungeon runs? Why not the other way around? What if they are the batteries that keep the dungeons running?”

I didn’t know that batteries were a thing in Vizhima. “Isn’t that the purpose of the dungeon hearts?”

“Aye. You’re probably right. Wait a minute . . . You don’t think gods exist, do you?”

“I’m not sure what to think.” I sighed at the ground. “I only know that those monsters are going to emerge from the dungeons someday. And, the world as we know it will end.”

In one year, in fact. Or less.

Paz turned pale. Our ordeal beneath the Labyrinth had been harrowing, even for a ranker as stalwart as him.

“That’s a terrible thought, Damien. I don’t think anything of the sort has ever happened in Vizhima.” He paused. “Is this why you were so eager to build a party?”

“It’s not . . . unrelated.”

“A secret for a secret, huh? Very well, we’ll share what we know in time. Here I was seeking to change the world, and here you come dropping an element of change onto my lap.”

“Destruction is not Change, Paz.”

“Philosophers would disagree. Which begs the question: If the dungeons and dungeon hearts were your priority, why sell the Egg of the Labyrinth to help Nicola?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

Paz remained unfazed. “I’m sure you realize the worth of a dungeon heart. Not from a monetary perspective—there is only so much you can sell it for. What I am asking is why you chose to give away an item that could provide answers for you in the future. Especially to someone who sets you backward?”

“Nicola doesn’t set me backward. And, she is my friend.”

“And, mine too, believe it or not. But, if your goal is to build a party for whatever reason, you must realize that by liberating her brothers, you have effectively removed her from our team.”

My stomach tossed. “You’re saying that I should have left them to the Archon Bank?”

Paz chuckled softly. “I’m informing you of the consequences of your choice. Your decision will cost you the dungeon heart and Nicola. Skeelie is too small a nest for us to dwell in, and wherever we go, Nicola won’t follow. Her family is her most prized possession.”

He smirked at my balled fists. “The Damien I know is also a shrewd bastard. You suspected this, didn’t you? And yet, you made your choice. Sorry I couldn’t make you feel good about your decision. Best get used to it.”

I bit down on my tongue.

A short moment later, Nicola emerged from the orphanage with her brothers in tow.

Theo and Bart looked just as underfed as the last time I’d seen them, with their jutting collarbones and neat but decrepit clothes. Both wore their hair tidy and cropped, an attempt by the orphanage to act like they cared.

They looked in wonder at the streets around them, then at the sky, and finally at the defunct spire of the Labyrinth. Their golden eyes—every bit as bright as Nicola’s—gleamed in the light of the sun.

“Hey!” Theo, the older and consequently taller sibling said. “Isn’t that your friend, Nicola?”

“The elf?” Bart said, looking around. He spotted me and recognition bloomed on his sunken face.

The two boys waved animatedly as if I didn’t stand less than twenty meters away. Tears streamed down Nicola’s face as she joined them, waving at Paz and me.

The children’s exuberant movements caused the collars of their large shirts to slip past their necks. The runic seals that had once occupied positions around their throats were nowhere in sight.

A lump rose in my chest. “You know, Paz. I had my doubts, but I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.”

Paz shrugged in response.

“If I can’t save a dear friend from despair,” I continued, “what chance do I have to save an entire world?”

“To change it,” Paz said. “And, I will say your chances are pretty minimal. Damien’s Protection Party has just taken a big hit from the loss of its caster.” He glanced at Nicola’s siblings and sighed. “Well, you know what they say. Two’s company, three’s a crowd. I guess we are fine until the next big quest.”

Nicola wasn’t the only cherished person I needed to save. I touched the spot on my armor which concealed the tattoo that connected me to an entire village.

“Our party name is a bit antiquated, don’t you think?” I said.

“It has always been distasteful, but I’m not the idiot who registered it at the Guild.” He jutted his chin at me.

“You will be pleased to find that a change is in order.”

“What do you have in mind?”

I strode across the street to meet the Ainsworths and grinned back at Paz.

“How about The Black Leaf Company?”