My name is Theo. Today I’m entering the dungeon with a party of three people who have offered to take me along, as my first time didn’t go well. They’ve kindly offered to show me the ropes and perhaps let me join them as a provisional member.

Well, I say kindly, but in fact I’m paying them a silver coin each. It’s not as if I’m being extorted; this is normal among adventurers. Well, almost normal. The usual beginner adventurer is younger than I am. But they’re also less skilled with a sword. I feel like I am able to carry my weight. But they also made me pay the dungeon entry fee for the entire party. Hmm.

The party consists of three members: Roan, the vanguard; Keeble, the scout; and Dale, the swordsman. Roan is a large man, armoured in plate and mail. I can’t see his face through his helmet visor. Keeble wears leather that isn’t armoured at all, and his sideburns make him look a bit like a monkey. Dale is the leader. He has the face of a wolf; sharp cheekbones and black hair that he wears short and greased back.

We do not have a mage or a priest, but Dale assures me that the party is fine without either.

“Mages need to be kept out of the way so their spells aren’t interrupted, and healers, well, they rarely join parties for free. Why would you delve in the dungeon and risk getting hurt yourself when you can just stay at the temple and receive money from injured adventurers?”

That’s common sense, I suppose. Imagine if I had Ellie beside me, though. I suspect there’s no wound her potions can’t heal.

“Besides, my wife works with the Alchemists Guild. She’s a provisional member so she can buy things cheaply. Here, take two of these.” He opens a bag and I remove two rolled-up bandages that smell of herbs and oils. “These will stop bleeding right away and can close small wounds in minutes. They also have a pain relieving effect, although that gives your body a numb feeling so be careful if you use it on your sword arm.”

I am familiar with this sort of thing. When I was a fencing trainer for Marika’s family, there was always a supply of alchemical items in case someone got injured. These bandages would be fine for minor injuries, cuts and the like.

“Also, you can take this if you want, but I have to charge you a silver coin for it. I know it’s expensive but trust me, if you get deeply injured, it will be worth it.” Dale holds out a tiny baked clay jar stoppered with a cork. “If you get wounded in the belly this will help detoxify your injury. It’s not a guarantee that you will survive but it will definitely improve your chances.”

The image of Caine with his belly torn open by the orcs before we met Ellie flashes through my mind. At that time I was certain he would die; if we somehow survived the orcs then surely the infection would take him. But Ellie’s potions saved him, right after she herself saved all of us.

“Thank you, but I will decline. However, what if you or the others are injured that badly?”

“Then at that time please force that mixture down my throat. I’m not ready to leave my wife behind!” Dale winks at me. Keeble nods in agreement, but Roan doesn’t answer.

Well, I’m not sure I would need that concoction anyway. In a wood-lined pouch on my hip I have six potions, wrapped in fur to prevent breakage. They are all from Ellie: four potent healing potions, one she says will make me stronger, and one she says will light a fury in me. It was very kind of her to pass them to me before I left this morning.

Once we’re in the dungeon, however, I am again out of my depth. Goblins attack us at every turn, and they are disgusting little creatures. I am acting as a skirmisher, attacking the monsters while they engage Dale or Roan, but my swordsmanship is wasted.

When I requested he let me join his party, Dale insisted on fighting a duel with me. Before the eyes of some of the Adventurer’s Guild members, I beat him three times in a row. His form was sloppy and it was as if he hadn’t learned much sword fighting beyond the basics. At that time I thought myself to be superior to Dale despite already having been somewhat beaten up by goblins previously. Now though I see the real difference in skill between us.

“See here, Theo,” says Dale after we’ve fought a few times. He’s poking the dissolving corpse of the goblin I just killed. “You pierced it here and here, and on a person that would be the end of the fight. But in the dungeon the monsters fight to the end. A mortal wound must stop them immediately; aim for the heart or the head. They aren’t the type to crawl away and die in a hole later on.”

“Or cleave them in two,” says Roan who speaks for the first time. He carries an axe with a short handle and a broad edge. and he pairs it with a shield. “There’s no kill like overkill.”

Keeble has nothing to add. His weapon of choice is a small hand crossbow, which he uses with precision. It is not generally a lethal weapon against goblins, but he coats the bolts with some kind of poison that causes them to screech and twist in pain. The distraction makes it easy for us to kill them.

“Theo can’t manage that with his weapon.” Dale points to my sword, which has a light blade made mainly for thrusting. “It’s just a matter of learning where to hit them. I know how you feel, though. When I started here last year I was classically trained as well. I aimed for legs, the liver, or to cut off hands. I learned quickly that a goblin missing a hand will just switch hands, or even just dive at you to bite. Against people, you’re very skilled, but down here, it’s a more brutal way of fighting that wins. After a while of fighting monsters your fencing skills will dull but you will be much deadlier against dungeon beasts.”

I consider this as we continue. Seems only recently I was lording it over Brandt, the young farmer’s son, telling him that he wasn’t ready to enter the dungeon. Now it’s me who feels like a novice. But I will learn.

The next group of goblins that ambushes us, I step up beside Roan to take Dale’s usual place. Dale yields to me with a nod and I join the fray.

These little monsters are barely chest high but they have the strength of a full grown man. Their skin is green and covered in an oily sweat, and it smells terrible. One of the goblins runs at me with a rusted sword blade, broken off but wrapped in leather to form a makeshift handle. I turn to present the narrowest target to him and take position.

Dale is of course right. The goblin doesn’t take a guard or size me up. It simply charges, waving its rusted weapon wildly. I don’t try to parry it, as I did before. Instead I just wait until it’s within my range, step forward, and thrust my sword into its eye. There’s an unpleasant sensation that relays down my blade, and the goblin is skewered. With a twist I withdraw and the ugly little beast drops down dead.

“Good!” says Roan, who has just smashed another goblin into a green paste between his shield and the wall. “But look out!”

Two more goblins have taken aim at my life. They are some distance apart and I can’t engage them both. A moment of panic almost freezes me but instead I choose the one that is approaching closer to Roan and thrust out.

The little beast ducks me, closes and slashes with the bone knife it wields. The weapon shatters on my dwarven breastplate. It’s too close now for me to properly engage so I kick it away. It spins off, but then I feel a sharp pain in my leg.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The other goblin took advantage of my distraction to stab me in the thigh, and the wound is deep. I smash it away with the hilt of my sword, and Dale, who has just finished off his opponent, drives his blade through its head. The thing dies on the spot. The one that broke its weapon on my armour is dead too; Roan split its head down the middle to the collarbone.

“Better,” says Dale while we catch our breath. “But that leg wound…”

I am leaning against the stone wall of the dungeon. This stratum is all tunnels and caves, tight and closed-in, so there’s always a wall to lean on. When I try to stand on my injured leg, I collapse. It’s deep and I can’t possibly bear my weight on it.

“He’s finished. We can’t keep going with him that injured. Best we retreat before we run into more than we can handle,” says Keeble, who is searching the dead goblins for magic stones before they dissolve into the floor of the dungeon.

“No, it’s all right.” I decide to show my hand a little. “I’ve got this.”

I hold up one of Ellie’s healing potions. From what I’ve seen of them, this wound is almost not worth using it on, but Keeble is right. I’m a liability like this. I down the potion and immediately feel the strange but not unpleasant sensation of my skin and muscle mending itself. After less than ten seconds, I get up on my own power.

All three of the men are staring at me. Dale points at the empty bottle. “Where’d you buy that? There’s no alchemy potion that heals that fast. That’s a dungeon potion.”

“Actually, my friend Ellie makes them,” I say before I scan stop myself. “Um, I mean—“

“The troll? That Ellie?” says Dale. His eyes are sharp.

Oh no. Dale’s wife is in the Alchemy Guild. She must have heard about Ellie from that wretched woman who banned her from the guild. Now Dale knows about her, and that I’m using her potions. But there’s nothing I can do now that the cat is out of the bag.

“Yes, that’s her. She’s a good friend. Her potions are… uncommonly good in quality.”

The stares are getting uncomfortable. I’m worried I have caused a rift in the party already. But Dale’s next words surprise me.

“They’re fools, all of them. Such a thing has to be a blessing from a god. You don’t turn away someone who the gods blessed.”

“Even it that god was Jinx?” I say. I feel as though this conversation is going a different direction than I expected.

“Especially if that god was Jinx. The last thing you want is the god of chance and mischief taking notice of you because you turned away one of her chosen. That’s a good way to get yourself ruined.”

Solemn nods from Roan and Keeble tell me they feel the same way. I slowly nod. “Well, then. there’s three more like that in my pouch. If we need them I won’t hesitate to offer them. But for now, let’s keep on going. I have a lot to learn.”

After a few hours, we’ve killed dozens of goblins and retrieved eleven magic stones. Dale sighs. “It’s time to return, but we don’t have a good number of stones. Four doesn’t go well into eleven.”

“You can keep my share,” I say. “I’m learning after all.”

“Three doesn’t go into eleven well either,” says Dale. “Let’s try to find one more stone.”

The path we take is different from what I’ve seen so far. In the parts we’ve traversed, every junction has a carved symbol showing which way takes you back to the entrance and which way takes you to the entrance to the next stratum. But now we’re passing junctions that are unmarked.

“Does this mean it’s not been explored?”

“Not at all,” says Dale. “But it’s not a common route. Don’t worry; Keeble is a great scout and can get us back. Usually people stick to the routes known to be safe or to have a good population of goblins. The less common ones might have more monsters or be otherwise dangerous. But because they are less common it means less competition.”

When two parties meet in the dungeon, politeness is the rule. But you never assist another party in a fight unless they ask. We haven’t encountered any other parties yet, but I defer to Dale’s experience.

We don’t find any goblins, but Keeble pulls up up short all of a sudden. “There’s another party up ahead. Fighting,” he says. “Sounds desperate.”

I can’t hear anything but both Roan and Dale nod. “Let’s keep going. If they need help we can offer. If they’ve won by the time we get there, well, we’ll just give up and roll the excess stones into tomorrow’s takings.”

We advance a little farther but once again Keeble stops us. “They’re fleeing. Being chased. Sounds like—“

From a fork in the tunnel a man comes running, followed by a woman wearing a tattered robe. Both are covered in blood. They see us and charge at us, ignoring the other fork.

“Do you need—“

Dale tries to talk to them but they don’t stop. The woman flicks her hand out and a flare of magical light explodes toward our group. Cursing, we fall back, momentarily blinded.

“Bastards!” shouts Roan as the pair runs past us. I hear his shield slam into the wall. “Using us as a distraction!”

“Damn,” says Dale. He’s blinking away the glare, as am I. Keeble seems unaffected; maybe he looked away in time. “Get ready!”

There’s no time to ask what just happened. I unsheathe my sword just in time to stab a goblin in the face with it. More luck than skill involved there; the little beast ran right into me from the tunnel the people were fleeing from. Then I see more of them, and we’re engaged.

It’s a bad spot to fight. Behind us the tunnel is wider, so we try to keep as close to the fork as we can so the goblins can’t surround us. Dale is swinging wildly, putting down green skinned goblins as fast as he can. but they keep coming. Keeble shoots them where he can, and Roan smashes them before they can get past him.

“It’s an outbreak!” he shouts.

I don’t know what that means, but it immediately makes the other two step up. Dale shoves me aside; I’m not offended. They’re a team and I’m easily the weakest link. I step back and take up a spot near Keeble.

“Catch any that get past us!” shouts Dale, and then they get to work.

I had thought they worked well together in the smaller fights we’d had. But now I saw what a trio of skilled adventurers with trust and understanding of each others’ abilities could do. Roan’s swings widen; he smashes goblins left and right. The ones his axe catches are split in two in a shower of blood, and the ones his shield hits are smashed aside to crumple on the floor. The goblins that try to avoid him are met by Dale’s flashing blade. He wastes no movements. Every stroke kills a goblin. Keeble fires over their shoulders into the mass of green monsters piled up trying to enter the fray, dropping them with squeals of poisoned agony.

I’m ready with my sword, but only two make it past the pair of armed killers, and Keeble takes them down instantly with bolts to the face. The moment they hit the ground, crying in pain, I stab them. At least I can help this much.

Blood sprays over all of us, thick and stinking. Dale’s sword carves through a goblin’s neck and he spins, ready to kill, but there are no more goblins left. How many did they kill? I can’t count the bodies.

“That’s it!” says Roan, his voice a little deadened from exertion.

“Injuries?” says Keeble. he’s the only one, including me, who isn’t out of breath.

Dale turns to face me. “None here. Theo, did—“

Dale’s words are cut short. From behind him a whistling cuts the air, followed by a heavy impact. Blood sprays on my face. A massive spearhead erupts from Dale’s chest, and then pulls back out, leaving a wound more terrible than any I’ve ever seen. He drops to his knees, then falls on his face.

Behind him there’s a shadow, too massive to be a goblin. It steps forward with a heavy tread, into our torchlight. It’s almost as tall as Ellie is, and much more heavily built. Its face is green, like the goblins, but unlike them it wears armour and carries a spear that seems to be tied to its wrist with a cord.

“Hobgoblin!” shouts Keeble. He fires his crossbow at the monster, but it bats the bolt aside with its armoured forearm. Before he can reload, the spear flies out, heading straight for him.

I’m frozen, but Roan is not. He moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move, placing his heavy shield between Keeble and the spear. That shield, which withstood countless blows from goblins today, splits in two and barely slows the spear down. It strikes Roan in the chest, smashing his breastplate. He goes down, choking on blood. His ribcage is crushed.

“Run,” says Keeble. He’s reloaded his crossbow and is aiming it carefully. “Someone needs to tell the Guild there’s an anomaly on the first stratum.”

I don’t run, but not because I’m still frozen in fear. Two of the three men who brought me here to learn are down; one of them might already be dead. I pull out my potion case and dump it on the ground. The hobgoblin steps forward, but this time Keeble’s bolt strikes it in the cheek. It groans in pain, then pulls the bolt out and roars. But it gave me the time to find what I need.

“Give Roan this. If Dale’s alive, make him drink this. Force it into him. And here.” I hand Keeble the three potions of healing I have left.

“I’m fine,” he says while reloading. “Don’t need the last potion.”

“That’s for me,” I say, and rip the corks free of the last two. “I might need it.”

Which is which? I can’t tell. It doesn’t matter. The first one tastes like fire, burning me as it goes down my throat. It lights my belly up and my body erupts with a power I’ve never felt. The second one… my vision fades into red, and I’m no longer me.