“Of course it’s you, Cloud.”

I turned toward the voice.

“Zamira?”

Without the leather apron and measuring tools from her shop, I almost failed to recognize her.

She wore a sleeveless black combat uniform beneath matching leather pauldrons that protected both shoulders without restricting her arms. Brown straps crossed her chest and waist, securing pouches, metal fittings, and the oversized greatsword resting diagonally across her back. Heavy boots, leather gloves, and reinforced bracers completed the outfit.

Her thick blue hair had been tied back between the enormous ridged horns. The purple half-rim glasses were still there, along with the same sharp yellow eyes currently examining what remained of my equipment.

She looked less like a leatherworker and more like a mercenary who happened to make her own gear.

“Wait.” I looked from her greatsword to the battlefield behind us. “How are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Her gaze traveled from my damaged armor to the scraps of black plastic still caught around the straps. “Garbage Man.”

Several nearby players laughed.

I looked down at myself. My shield was gone, several carapace plates were missing, and one of the black-iron shoulder pieces had warped beneath Aureophis’s fire. Cuts ran through the leather along my arms and legs, burn marks covered one side of my chest, and everything below my waist was soaked in some combination of sewage, roach remains, and reservoir water.

The armor had looked considerably better on Zamira’s mannequin.

“I was testing the new set,” I said. “Light grinding.”

“You had it for less than a day.”

“It was a productive day.”

She pressed one finger against the warped shoulder plate. It shifted beneath her touch.

“You lost several pieces, destroyed the shield, and covered what remained in garbage.”

“It’s a long story….”

Before I could defend the engineering value of refuse, a player carrying a greataxe approached and glanced at the crowd forming around us.

“Boss, are you going to introduce us?”

The title caught me off guard. Nearly a dozen players had gathered around Zamira, and all of them seemed to be waiting for her to answer.

“You run a guild?” I asked.

“The name is [BerZerker],” the greataxe player said. “She founded it.”

Zamira glanced at me. “Surprised?”

“A little.”

“Because I make armor?”

“Because you charged me one thousand credits for armor and apparently still have time to run a guild.”

“Leadership is expensive.”

“That explains the prices.”

The greataxe player laughed as more members of [BerZerker] gathered around him. Every one of them carried a weapon that looked designed to require both hands and a complete disregard for personal safety. Greatswords, greataxes, mauls, and heavy polearms rested across shoulders or hung from reinforced harnesses.

Zamira’s enormous black greatsword wasn’t an unusual choice among them. It was practically the guild uniform.

“I thought I could get back to crafting after we secured the spawn last night,” Zamira said. “Then one of my guildmates sent word that another swarm had hit the barricade.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“When I arrived, the entire tunnel was flooded. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I was lost somewhere deeper inside when it happened.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It all happened very quickly.”

Zamira studied my face, her gaze moving over the soaked armor, missing shield, burns, and remains of my debris disguise. I could almost see her assembling the evidence.

She knew.

Fortunately, another player interrupted before she could continue the interrogation.

“You know him, Zam?”

One of the tower-shield players from the charge had joined the edge of the crowd. Several more heavily armored players followed him, all wearing full metal plate and carrying shields large enough to hide behind completely.

“He’s one of my customers.” Zamira gestured toward the damaged remains of my armor. “Although looking at him now, you would never know it.”

The shield user examined the missing plates and burned leather.

“You made that?”

“I made what it looked like before he destroyed it.”

“It held together through the charge.”

Zamira sighed. “That is not the same as holding together.”

“I have to give him credit,” the shield user said. “That molotov opened the center of the swarm. Without it, we’d still be trapped behind the barricade.”

“It was smart as hell,” someone beside him said.

“Insane,” another corrected.

“Both,” said a third.

A member of [BerZerker] pointed toward the wreckage of my floating ‘fortress’.

“Was that pile of debris his too?”

“It was a floating fortress and it got me through the swarm.”

“That makes it tactical.”

A player near the barricade looked up from his loot. “Wait. You’re the friend-request guy.”

Several frontline players checked their notifications.

“That was him?”

“You sent me a friend request in the middle of the fight.”

“I needed to get your attention.”

“You could have shouted.”

“I did that too.”

“He shouted after the friend requests,” another player said. “There was a process.”

Someone at the rear of the crowd yelled, “Leeroy Jenkins!”

“He had a plan,” another argued.

“Did he?”

I pointed toward the cleared tunnel. “It worked.”

That only encouraged them.

“The Garbage Man saved the sewer!”

“Is Garbage Man a hidden class?”

“Only if the trash bag gives stats.”

The crowd was getting out of control. More members of Zamira’s guild joined from one side while the tower-shield group closed in from the other. Some wanted to hear about the molotov. Others wanted to know how I had reached the rear of the swarm, and at least two players appeared genuinely interested in reproducing the floating fortress.

I had survived Aureophis, the flood, and an army of giant roaches. Being surrounded by curious players somehow felt more dangerous.

“I should finish looting,” I said. “The corpses could despawn.”

That created the opening I needed. Several players immediately remembered that they also had loot waiting.

I slipped between the two groups before anyone could ask another question and crouched beside the nearest roach. My replacement specimen was already stored, but the remaining corpses still contained enough usable materials to recover part of what I had lost. I just had to loot them before they despawned.

I pulled several fresh black trash bags from my inventory and spread the first beside the corpse for the loose, less intact materials.

Someone behind me went quiet.

“He has more of them.”

“The Garbage Man came prepared.”

A few players laughed as I dropped the first section of carapace into the bag.

“Is that officially his class now?” someone asked Zamira.

“It is now.”

I ignored them. Most of my armor was missing, burned, warped, or cut open, and my shield was gone entirely. Every usable piece mattered.

“I’ll see you soon, Garbage Man,” Zamira called after me.

I raised one hand without looking back and continued looting.

By the time I finished, the clock at the edge of my vision was only a few minutes from midnight. I packed away my tools, tied off the last black trash bag, and started toward the exit gate.

The entrance camp had already begun recovering from the battle. Players dragged intact planks, logs, and lengths of wire out of the water to reinforce the damaged barricade, while others replaced extinguished torches along the walls. A few volunteers remained behind to stand guard, but most of the defenders looked ready to collapse wherever they stopped moving.

I joined the exhausted stream of players passing through the gate.

The dungeon disappeared, and I emerged onto the open floor of the Tower.

Rings of enormous stone arches rose around me like the inside of a colossal open-air colosseum, with nothing overhead but the night sky. Thin clouds drifted past the moon, while the lights of the city and the dark line of the sea remained visible through the lower arches.

A cool breeze carried salt from the ocean, mixed with wet limestone, distant chimney smoke, and food from the taverns still open. After hours of sewage, burned feathers, and roach remains, the sea air might have been the best thing I had smelled all day.

Logging out immediately would have been sensible.

Instead, I went to the Grand Library.

The main hall was quieter at midnight, but its lamps were still burning. Shosuke sat behind one of the front desks with several open books spread around him.

He looked up when I approached.

“Do you know what a cockatrice is?”

He paused. “A what?”

“A giant rooster with a snake for a tail.”

Shosuke stared at me.

“It also breathes fire and sings.”

“That explanation did not help.”

“It was worth trying.”

He searched the public catalog for cockatrice, Aureophis, and the Last Song. None returned a useful entry.

“There may be restricted records,” Shosuke said, “or the creature may never have been formally documented.”

“So the library doesn’t know everything.”

His expression suggested that I had personally insulted the building.

“The library contains everything currently available to its researchers.”

“Important distinction.”

There was something appealing about that. Most MMOs would have complete boss guides, damage charts, and optimal strategies online within hours. Project Babel seemed determined to hide certain information until players discovered it themselves.

It was more dangerous that way.

Probably more fun too.

I thanked Shosuke, found a quiet corner, and logged out.

Monday morning vanished into work meetings. When lunch finally arrived, I ate quickly enough that it barely qualified as a meal and logged back into Project Babel shortly after noon.

None of my friends were online, which wasn’t surprising. It was the middle of a Monday, and most normal people had work, school, or other responsibilities preventing them from spending the afternoon recovering from a sewer expedition.

I needed metal before Kevin and Zamira could rebuild anything, so I headed for the mine.

The trip was refreshingly uneventful. No giant spiders, no cockatrices, and nothing tried to set me on fire. I spent several hours filling my inventory and loading a mine cart with iron ore, coal, and whatever useful stone I could find.

By the time I finished, Kevin had logged in. I arranged to have the loaded cart delivered to his forge and started walking toward his shop.

A direct message appeared before I reached the main road.

Ambrosia had sent me a video clip.

The recording showed a black shape rising behind a floating pile of broken wood and dead roaches. It waved a torch, lit a molotov, and hurled it into the ceiling before charging through the resulting fire rain.

The person recording had zoomed in just enough for my name tag to become visible.

Another message appeared.

IS THAT YOU????

I watched the clip a second time.

It had looked more reasonable from my perspective.

Meet me at Kevin’s shop. It’ll be easier to explain in person.

Her reply appeared immediately.

HAHAHA OK.

I sent the location over and continued walking.

Ambrosia was already waiting when I reached Kevin’s shop. Kevin looked up from the forge as I entered.

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Garbage Man.”

Ambrosia examined what remained of my armor. “You look like you went through hell.”

“Pretty much.”

“You’ve been busy, Cloud. It’s only been two days.”

“Only two?” I set my bags beside the workbench. “It felt like a week.”

Apparently, Kevin and Ambrosia had introduced themselves while waiting for me, which saved time.

Kevin stepped around the forge and stared at my empty left arm.

“Where is my shield?”

“My shield,” I corrected. “And it performed wonderfully.”

“So where is it?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Kevin continued staring at the empty space where it should have been.

“That bad?”

“It completed its final assignment.”

Ambrosia covered a laugh with one hand.

“Zamira already contacted me,” Kevin said. “She warned me that you’d need replacement armor parts too. She has started preparing the leather sections.”

“Oh, right. She was there.” I looked at him. “Did you know she leads the [BerZerker] guild?”

“Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Ambrosia glanced between us. “Who is Zamira?”

“The leatherworker who made his armor,” Kevin said.

“She also carries a sword larger than most people,” I added. “And apparently runs a guild full of people with equally oversized weapons.”

Ambrosia nodded slowly. “That sounds like someone you can trust.”

Kevin folded his arms. “All right. What actually happened down there?”

“I followed the main route until the torches ran out. Then I kept going.”

“Alone?” Ambrosia asked.

“Yep.”

“I found a few roaches after that.”

“How many is a few?” Kevin asked.

“I stopped counting somewhere around twelve.”

Ambrosia stared at me. “And you kept going deeper?”

“I wasn’t choosing the direction by then. I was mostly moving away from the mandibles.”

“So you were running away,” Kevin said.

“They chased me into a cavern, where I found what everyone has apparently been calling a dragon.”

“A dragon?” Ambrosia asked.

“Not exactly. Imagine a chicken large enough to eat you, give it a kingsnake for a tail, then add massive wings, fire, and a song that slows you down.”

Neither of them spoke.

I continued.

“[Lv25. Aureophis - the Last Song].”

Kevin straightened. “Level twenty-five?”

“Yep.”

“And you fought it?” Ambrosia asked.

“I tried. I barely moved its health bar.”

Kevin looked over the missing plates again. “Is that what happened to the shield and armor?”

“Most of it.”

I explained how the fight had led back to an emergency control platform beside the reservoir gate. Aureophis had blocked the only route I knew, so I opened the flush control.

Ambrosia’s eyes widened. “You’re the one who flooded the dungeon?”

Kevin slowly looked over the dried sewage stains, warped plates, and torn leather before turning back to me.

“That was you?”

“Keep your voices down.”

“You washed an entire swarm back to spawn,” Ambrosia said in a whisper that somehow still sounded like shouting.

“I was trying not to be roasted alive.”

Kevin rubbed a hand across his face. “Zamira said the flood came from somewhere deeper inside. I should have known you were involved.”

“Technically, the cistern flooded itself. I only opened the gate.”

They both stared at me.

“Anyway, the water swept Aureophis into an unexplored tunnel. I never received a kill notification, so it’s probably still alive.”

I left out several minutes of running, screaming, and nearly drowning. They understood enough.

“So you fought a cockatrice,” Kevin said, “and came back alive.”

“Fought is generous.” I gestured toward my empty left arm and the remains of my armor. “I survived. Most of my equipment didn’t.”

Before the silence could settle, I remembered something important.

“Oh. Before I forget.”

I pulled out the portion of the Wolffang Spider loot I had set aside and handed it to Ambrosia.

“Here’s your share.”

Her expression brightened. “Thanks,” she began, then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Did you enter the first dungeon carrying my share of the spider loot?”

“Maybe.”

“Cloud!”

“Sorry?”

“You could have lost everything when you died.”

“I didn’t die.”

“That doesn’t make it a good idea.”

“Storage costs money, and I ran out again after buying supplies.”

“You spent your last credits on trash bags?”

“Some of them. Yes.”

Ambrosia looked toward Kevin for support, but he was trying not to laugh.

Kevin held out one hand. “Pass me the dagger.”

I removed the fang dagger and handed it over.

He inspected the point beneath the forge light, checked the grip, and examined the bindings securing the fang to the handle. The weapon had survived better than everything else.

“The point is still intact,” he said. “The grip loosened a little, probably from all the water.”

He tightened the binding, polished the fang, and made a small adjustment near the guard before handing it back.

“Good as new.”

I tested the balance. It felt slightly firmer in my hand.

While Kevin returned to the forge, I looked at Ambrosia.

“Do you know anything about mushrooms with healing effects?”

“Some.”

“I saw a healer throw a flask in the dungeon. The green liquid became a mist filled with mushroom spores. It barely healed each person, but it affected the entire frontline.”

Ambrosia nodded. “There are mushrooms in Viridian Basin that release restorative spores when disturbed. They usually grow in the wetter sections beneath the trees.”

“Useful?”

“If you know how to process them. Breathing the raw spores directly can also make you sick.”

“Of course it can.”

“You’re thinking about going back?”

“I never finished exploring the forest.”

Her expression suggested she remembered exactly how our previous trip had ended.

“That place nearly killed us.”

“So did the first dungeon.”

Ambrosia hesitated. “If you’re going back anyway, there are still a few things I need from there.”

“Perfect. You’re coming with me again, Ms. Biologist.”

“It’s Herbologist!”

Kevin returned with several notes open across his portable UI.

“I’m still preparing the replacement metal pieces for Zamira. You’ll need to leave whatever remains of the armor at her shop.”

“Does that mean I need to find another Wolffang Spider?”

“Only if you want the same materials.”

“I want something with fire resistance this time. Even the spider shield could barely survive a few direct hits, and Aureophis’s health bar barely moved throughout the fight.”

Kevin frowned. “I don’t know any suitable material off the top of my head, but I can ask around in the crafter chatroom. Someone may have found heat-resistant ore, monster hide, or something similar.”

“Anything that prevents my equipment from cooking me inside it would help.”

He nodded toward my empty left arm. “I have a basic iron shield you can borrow until we make the replacement.”

“Free?”

“You pay for it if you damage or lose it.”

“Fine.”

Kevin pulled a plain iron shield from a rack and placed it on the workbench.

“Also, when you decide to go after Aureophis properly, tell me.”

“You want to fight it?”

“No blacksmith is going to ignore the possibility of legendary boss materials.”

“I haven’t seen you fight.”

“My Hammer skill is level ten.”

“The boss is level twenty-five.”

Kevin’s confidence weakened slightly.

“You could lose your entire black-iron set,” I continued. “Or have it heated against your body while you’re still wearing it.”

He looked down at his armor.

“Fire-resistant equipment first,” he said.

“Now you’re thinking like a blacksmith.”

“I was already thinking like a blacksmith. That’s why I want the materials.”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

I took the borrowed shield in my left hand and turned toward Ambrosia.

“We’re leaving.”

She looked around. “We?”

“You’re coming with me.”

“Where?”

“The IMR laboratory.”

Her expression brightened. “Oh. I haven’t been there yet.”

“I have a few intact roach corpses and several bags of glands, antennae, and carapace samples to examine.”

“Less interested.”