Chapter 25: Back to the Dungeon (Part 2)

Finn almost dropped the sword again.

"Really?"

"I asked around."

His father’s expression remained serious, but the hard resistance he remembered from their earlier conversations was gone.

"Apparently that new dungeon isn’t as dangerous as I thought. The first floor is protected."

Finn had no idea what that meant, and his father seemed to notice.

"If you take what would normally be a fatal injury, the dungeon removes you instead. Teleports you outside."

Finn’s eyes widened. "You can’t die?"

"On the protected floor," his father corrected immediately. "Do not hear what you want to hear."

Finn nodded several times. "Protected floor, got it."

He looked at his father more carefully. He had actually gone out of his way to ask about the dungeon.

The thought made something warm settle in Finn’s chest. He had expected another argument if he brought it up again, or at least another lecture about how dangerous adventuring was.

Instead, his father had spent time finding out exactly what Finn would be walking into.

"Who did you ask?" he asked.

"A few people in town. Someone at the guild confirmed it too," his father replied.

Finn tried not to smile too much.

His father noticed anyway. "Don’t look so happy. I asked because I prefer knowing what kind of stupid thing my son is doing."

Finn’s smile widened.

"The dungeon keeps unsecured equipment when it removes you, so don’t take anything you can’t afford to lose."

Finn looked down at the sword in his hands. His father followed his gaze. For a moment, Finn expected him to change his mind. Instead, the older man sighed.

"I know you’re taking it anyway."

Finn tightened his grip.

"Grandfather would want me to use it."

"Your grandfather would tell you that going into dungeons is stupid and that only people with too much time on their hands go to such places."

Finn paused. Knowing what little he knew about his late grandfather, that was probably true too.

His father pointed toward the road. "You can go, but you are home before dinner."

"Yes!" Finn nodded immediately. "I will be! I promise!"

"I mean it. If you’re late, you’re done. No more dungeon."

"I’ll be early."

"You don’t have to be early," his father said, shaking his head.

"I’ll be very early."

His father’s mouth twitched. "Go before I change my mind."

Finn was already running when his father called after him.

"Finn!"

He spun around.

"What?"

"Scabbard."

Finn looked down at the bare sword in his hand.

"Oh! Thanks!"

He immediately ran back to pick it up.

A few minutes later, Finn was racing down the road with his grandfather’s sword at his hip and absolutely nothing else.

No armor.

No potions.

No food.

Not even an adventuring pack.

He didn’t think about any of those things until the dungeon entrance came into view. By then, turning around felt impossible.

Several people were gathered outside. Finn slowed as his attention moved from one person to another.

Some sat on the grass eating from travel packs, while others checked weapons or adjusted pieces of armor before entering. One man was replacing the string on a bow as his companions argued over something written on a folded piece of paper.

They were real adventurers, gathered outside a real dungeon because they were about to go inside and fight monsters.

And Finn was here for the same reason. He tried to walk normally, but by the few gazes he received, he knew he failed.

A familiar group approached the entrance ahead of him.

Finn recognized them vaguely from town, though he didn’t know any of their names. The armored man in front carried a heavy shield, followed by a dark-haired woman with knives, a mage holding a staff, and a healer in light-colored robes.

They looked experienced enough that he immediately decided following them inside was probably a very good idea. He waited until the fourth person crossed the dungeon boundary, then hurried after them.

The healer turned around.

"Wait."

Finn stopped so quickly that his sword bumped against his leg.

She looked him over, then glanced toward the entrance behind him.

"Are you with another party?"

Finn shook his head.

"No."

"Then wait a few minutes before coming in."

His face heated immediately. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No." Her expression softened. "You’re just too close behind us. If you enter right now, the dungeon might register you as part of our party and place you in the same instance."

Finn blinked.

"Instance?"

It was the first time he heard the word.

The mage had stopped farther ahead and looked back, but the healer waved for the others to continue.

"Each party gets its own version of the floor," she explained. "That way several groups can use the dungeon at the same time without running into each other. But if people enter too close together, sometimes the dungeon assumes they’re together."

Finn looked into the passage, then back toward her.

"So if I go in now, I’d be with you?"

"It’s highly possible," she replied.

His embarrassment deepened.

"I’m sorry."

"You didn’t know." She smiled. "Give us about three minutes. That should be enough."

Finn nodded seriously.

"Three minutes."

"Good luck."

"You too."

She turned and disappeared farther into the tunnel, leaving Finn to step back outside and wait. He had no way to measure three minutes exactly, so he decided it was safer to wait longer.

A few of the adventurers resting nearby glanced toward him, and Finn suddenly became very aware that he was standing alone in ordinary work clothes with an old sword at his hip while nearly everyone else carried packs, armor, potions, or at least something that suggested they had prepared properly.

Finn looked down at himself.

Maybe he should’ve brought something. But what else would he bring? He didn’t have armor or potions. He wasn’t even sure how much potions cost, all he knew was that they were expensive.

At least nobody laughed. One woman looked at his sword for a moment before returning to the conversation with her party, while a man cleaning his spear barely glanced at him at all.

Finn relaxed slightly. Apparently, going alone wasn’t unusual enough to draw much attention.

He’d heard of experienced adventurers running low-level floors by themselves for training or extra money.

Nobody here needed to know he wasn’t experienced. Very inexperienced, actually.

He waited what felt like at least five minutes just to be safe, then placed one hand around the grip of his grandfather’s sword and looked into the dark entrance.

He’d spent days practicing for this.

This time, he was ready to challenge his first dungeon.