With a resolute spirit to die, Witt strode into the courtyard with his squad members lined up tightly behind him, wishing they could step exactly where Witt had stepped.

Witt knew well that less is more. He paid no attention to the neatly trimmed flowers and trees on both sides, stepping only on the brick path beneath his feet, not daring to overstep.

Thus, Witt's squad passed through the courtyard and arrived before the house without incident.

Leaving half the squad members to guard the door, Witt decided to charge in with the rest.

The large front door was ajar, not locked at all. Peering through the gap, Witt saw no buckets of water or other juvenile pranks.

He pushed open the door to reveal a spacious, bright foyer. For Witt, a commoner who ate by his strength alone, it was hard to tear his eyes away even in this crisis.

Just as Witt was about to take in everything in the foyer, he saw—

A golden retriever.

The dog sat with its front legs up and hind legs down right in front of them, giving off an inexplicably polite vibe.

Seeing the dog, Witt relaxed a little. After all, he figured if the mage Murphy had rigged his home with traps, he wouldn't let his dog roam around.

Pondering, Witt reasoned it made sense for the inscrutable mage to have such an intelligent, sagacious dog. He reached out to pet the retriever's smooth, shiny head.

With an agile movement, the dog dodged Witt's approaching hand, then continued sitting properly nearby.

Seeing the hint of disdain in the dog's eyes, Witt felt oddly embarrassed to have made a fool of himself in front of his men. For a moment, he strangely empathized with the captain he had tackled.

Unable to pet it, Witt spoke in a gentle, child-like tone: "Good doggy, we've come to see Mr. Murphy. Can you take us to him?"

The retriever's eyes brightened briefly and it nodded earnestly, shocking Witt and his squad.

It gave a soft "woof" and headed upstairs.

In the parlor just a wall away, Murphy calmly poured himself tea while his disciple worked on Common Tongue homework. Only the Alaric family of three reacted by swiftly hugging their son between them like converging Slimes, having heard the clanking armor outside.

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The clanking grew louder, then faded to footsteps overhead.

The Alarics sighed in unison and stealthily returned to their seats.

Upstairs, armored men tiptoed behind the dog as quietly as possible. At a door, the dog looked back at Witt and softly woofed.

Witt: "Mr. Murphy's in here?"

The dog nodded.

Witt turned and whispered, "A level 20 mage, we can't beat him. Focus on negotiating."

With that, he pushed open the door.

It was a spacious bedroom, larger than Witt's entire studio apartment.

Seeing the figure under the blankets, Witt thought a mage's life was indeed luxurious, still in bed this late.

He cleared his throat. "Mr. Murphy, wake up. We're the 12th Squad of the City of Gath militia."

No response from under the covers.

Witt steeled himself and pulled back the blankets, revealing two long pillows stacked together.

"Tricked?" Witt was shocked and furious. Though he felt Murphy had fooled them, he still couldn't help glancing back at the golden retriever by the door.

The dog now wore an extremely mocking expression Witt had never before seen on a canine face in his 20-odd years of life.

"A bunch of fools," the dog enunciated clearly.

The soldiers fell silent a moment.

"Holy shit!"

"It talked? It talked, right?"

"Help!"

"..."

Seeing the panic among his men, Witt felt his legs shaking too. "12th Squad, retreat! Retreat!"

Witt yelled this then turned and fled, making for the manor's exit. His men had already dashed out before his order.

Witt's group sprinted downstairs to find the ajar front door slowly swinging shut by the retriever extending a paw. Witt drew his standard-issue sword with a trembling hand. "Can we leave if we let you be?"

The dog dropped all pretense in a cheerful tone: "Why not stay and play a while?"

Feeling his blood pressure spike, Witt shakily sheathed his sword, trying to sound calm. "Okay, we'll play with you. Let's get acquainted first. I'm Witt. What's your name?"

"I'm Buster."

Barely containing his discomfort and shock, Witt forced a smile. "Very well. Would that be Mr. Buster or Miss Buster?"

"I haven't decided yet," the dog replied, looking uncertainly at the floor.

"Huh?" Too rattled to ponder the strange words, Witt continued, "What game can we play for you to let us leave after?"

"Hide and seek."

Witt eyed his unsteady men and gave an uglier smile than a sob. "Okay, let's play."

The dog turned around, covering its eyes with its paws. "I'll start counting. One, two, three..."

Witt turned back. "Run, run!"

"Run where? We don't know this place."

"Better than just standing here!" Witt scanned the area and saw stairs leading down. Pointing, he said, "Follow me!"

The masses always need a backbone, even if crooked at times.

They tiptoed to the cellar door, slipped in, and gently closed it.

Everyone breathed sighs of relief, thanks to the well-oiled hinges making no sound.

Just as Witt pondered their next step, a squad member whispered in horror, "Captain, look down!"

Glancing down, Witt saw an enormous magic circle under their feet. Though ignorant of magic, Witt knew the more complex something was, the more dangerous. Layer within layer, the circle seemed endless. Before he could examine it further, another shouted in fear, "What's that sound?"

They held their breath and listened. Indeed, it sounded like...digging?

"Boom! Crash!"

Suddenly a cellar wall collapsed, revealing a wide tunnel. Two miners poked their heads out.

"Yo mate, this 2 Clyster Street?"