Chapter 24: Back to the Dungeon (Part 1)

By the time evening settled over the dungeon, only a handful of Floor 1 instances remained active.

Zion watched the last few parties make their way through the pasture while keeping one eye on the growing collection of equipment inside his dungeon inventory. The visitor rush had slowed considerably once the sun began to set, and most of the adventurers who arrived purely because of the pendant rumor had already left.

Only one of the remaining groups managed to reach the barn, but they didn’t clear it.

The Horned Ram caught their tank badly during the second charge and broke the party’s formation almost immediately. Their healer went down shortly afterward, and once the remaining three lost their support, the fight deteriorated quickly.

One by one, pale light removed them from the floor.

[Adventurer defeated.]

[Defeat Essence acquired: 25] x4

The fifth adventurer tried to reach the exit before the Horned Ram caught him near the barn doors. Its horns struck the adventurer square in the back, sending him flying.

[Adventurer defeated.]

[Defeat Essence acquired: 25]

Zion watched their abandoned equipment disappear into his inventory and did the math. A failed five-person party had earned him more essence than a successful Floor 1 clear.

Nobody had died. The adventurers were free to return whenever their pride recovered, and Zion had received one hundred and twenty-five essence along with several pieces of equipment they’d failed to protect.

It was difficult to complain about that arrangement.

"Thank you for your contribution," he said, laughing lightly. He was starting to think this was even better than having a party clear a floor for the essence bonus.

He checked the remaining instances, but none of the parties were close enough to the barn to finish before nightfall.

One eventually turned around voluntarily after using most of their healing supplies, while another lost two members to Pack Mentality and decided continuing with half a party wasn’t worth the risk.

By the time the final adventurer left, Floor 1 had become quiet again.

Zion looked over the empty pasture, then toward the dark opening behind the barn that now led to Floor 2.

Tomorrow, someone would finally enter it.

At least, he hoped so.

***

Finn drove the sickle through another bundle of wheat and gathered the stalks against his chest. His arms were beginning to ache, but he didn’t mind.

His father said sore muscles meant they were becoming stronger, and Finn had decided that probably applied equally well to harvesting wheat and learning how to use a sword.

He carried the bundle toward the growing pile near Rowan before immediately turning back for another.

His older brother glanced at him. Then looked again a few moments later.

Finn ignored him and cut another section of wheat.

"You’re doing it again," Rowan said teasingly.

Finn looked up. "Doing what?"

"That."

Rowan gestured vaguely toward him with the bundle tucked under one arm.

Finn frowned. "Harvesting?"

"You keep looking toward the house."

"I do not."

"You’ve done it six times."

Finn immediately returned his attention to the wheat, which only made Rowan laugh. His grandfather’s sword was leaning inside the house beside the kitchen door.

He knew because he placed it there himself after morning practice, and ever since then he’d been thinking about the basic drills their father had taught him.

The movements were simple enough that Finn suspected a real adventurer would barely consider them swordsmanship, but even those had started feeling different after several days.

His feet no longer tangled together every time he stepped forward. His wrists hurt less. Most importantly, he could finally hold the sword straight without its weight dragging his entire arm awkwardly to one side.

While it wasn’t much, he was extremely proud of it anyway. He gathered another bundle of wheat and forced himself not to glance toward the house.

Rowan watched him for another few seconds, shaking his head. "You can go."

Finn nearly dropped the wheat.

"What?"

"I can finish this section. There’s not much left."

Finn stared at the remaining field. "By yourself?"

"I was doing this before you were tall enough to hold a sickle," Rowan said with a smile.

"But...."

"You’re thinking about that sword so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t flown out of the house and into your hand."

Finn opened his mouth then closed it. He couldn’t deny the fact that he had been thinking about the sword.

Rowan smiled. "Go."

Finn’s face immediately broke into a grin.

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I’ll do your share tomorrow."

Rowan let out a laugh and walked over, placing his hand on top of Finn’s head. "Are you sure about that? You’d have to wake up before sunrise."

"I already do!" Finn said, arguing back.

"I said before sunrise, not at."

Finn lowered his head before nodding.

"Don’t worry about it," Rowan said, leaning in. "Just help me move a few of the larger stones tomorrow."

"Okay!" Finn dropped the wheat onto the pile and took off toward the house before Rowan could change his mind. "Thank you!"

"Try not to stab yourself!"

Finn didn’t bother answering. He reached the house, pushed through the door, and grabbed the old sword from beside the kitchen.

The blade was still rusted in places, the leather around the handle had long since faded, and the cracked scabbard looked like it might fall apart if he treated it too roughly. But Finn loved it anyway.

He hurried back outside and found an open patch of packed dirt beside the house before drawing the blade.

"What Father told me," he said, taking a deep breath. "Feet apart. Back straight. Both hands steady."

Finn raised the sword and brought it down, then repeated the motion before stepping forward on the third swing exactly as his father had shown him.

The blade still wavered slightly near the end, but it no longer pulled his entire upper body along with it. He reset his stance and started again.

"You’re better."

Finn nearly jumped. He turned toward the doorway, where his father stood with his arms folded.

"I am?"

"You’re not fighting the weight anymore."

Finn looked down at the blade as though it might confirm this for him. "I’ve been practicing."

"I noticed."

His father stepped closer and watched him perform another downward cut.

Finn tried very hard not to ruin it because he was being watched. He only ruined it a little.

His father nodded anyway.

"Better."

That single word made Finn stand a little straighter.

Then his father continued, "If you want to go back to the dungeon today, you can."