“N—no soup.”

“Understood.” 

He nodded, withholding his smile while withdrawing himself. The Lady had slumped down, her head plunged first to her folded knee. Her silver-iron spear and its sheathe were clattering right of her. Besides her, sire did the same by throwing himself backward. Although, he did it in the way that only men were free to; lying down and spreading himself in all four without care to what was considered a proper posture. 

Chuckling to himself as he walked away from the pair, he shook his head. Of course, he wouldn’t cook the first floor’s soup. The broth was succor, not a good meal. Lady’s grace if they needed to eat it all delve, even Rishi disliked it. And the boy tolerated everything. Instead, for tonight, he’d serve saffre mash, few strips of erwee (fried on their own rendered fat), and a generous heap of scrambled couchee eggs. A hearty, succulent choice, especially since the last ones were free. 

Yes, free. He had taken all of the eggs that the hollow had popped a while ago. All except three that were on the verge of hatching. Not that he disliked additional meat. It just there was no time for the plucking and the boiling required to prepare them. Hardly worth it.

Normally it wasn’t allowed, of course. Collection like mining required an appropriate permit to be submitted at least seven days prior, but by Her Lady’s grace, that bastard could take it with the guild if he dared to.

One of the many, many reasons delvers hated hunting Giant Couchee was that despite their height, they had the ability to blend in with their surrounding. Like frit in tall grass, their color melded. Took a really keen eye to spot them, the Couchees. He could do it, of course, but that self-defense excuse already stretching it thin. And how no matter he’d like to help sire, priority was a priority. Thank her light that there were Master Clem and Lady Lydia. 

Thus it came as no surprise when they finished slaying the remaining Giant Couchees just three wicks ago — half bell after the eighteenth. The ceiling had stopped shining its yellow-sun light and had turned into patterns of glow moss. Green dots over a black expanse. He smiled at that, adding few stalks of dried gailies to the fire. He was not those mages who had spare time to concern themselves with the dungeon’s mysteries. Especially the big ones like how the dungeon could mimic day and night. There was just no time for that. Even though the answer was worth prized five thousand golds.

Oh of course he tried, he chuckled to himself. He remembered the first summer he came to Ar’endal. He spent at least three moons of seventh contemplation trying to unravel just one, just one of the mysteries the dungeon had in its coffer when he heard how many prizes the guild offered. Even spending some coins for repository access. Now aged and wiser he stopped doing things that were obviously made his payday half pouch poorer. It was true that the call of wealth discriminated no one. 

Putting some ground salt to the now roaring water, he threw the despiked saffre’s tubers to the pot; closing the lid in a half breath. Just in time, Rishi was already beside him. Handing two stones worth of strip wrapped in thrice-layered paper. He washed the excess salt still remained on the preserved strips and used the resulting wash water to add flavor to the boiling saffre. 

Feeling the bounce on the strips, he nodded, satisfied. He only needed to render their fat, fried it, and threw two eggs for each plate. Just enough time before the party woke up.

“Rishi.”

“Yes, Mr. Oskar?”

"We should go to sleep," he said, drying the last of the plates before putting the rag towel to a little bag of used cloth that he’d launder on the 5th. Taking the plates and spoons with him, the boy paused, looking at him.

“No, it’s too late.” he continued, knowing very well what the boy thought. “You can practice later.”

“But, Mr. Oskar, I found it! If I just do a horizontal placement on the number three crates and put the plates box diagonally instead after, I’d finally get the new level!”

“Tell you what,” he smiled, trying to mollify the boy. “You could do the practice all day when we’re on the 5th. I’ll do all your chores. How about it?”

“...but isn’t it better if I get the new level now, and also practicing on 5th?”

“Hehe.” he smiled. Looked at the boy and blurted. “No.”

“...okay. I’ll take the 5th then, Mr. Oskar. Sheesh”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing!”

“If it’s nothing then go to sleep!”

“Yes!”

He rolled his eyes as the boy finally got up to his feet, tossing the remaining boxes to his bag before taking out their sleeping roll. Snapping it from the boy’s hand, he gave him one last glare making sure that the level-crazed boy went to his corner of the wall and promptly went sleeping.

“Lady’s grace…”

The kids — the kids always like this, he shook his head, heading to his own corner. He meant he understood the lure. Leveling. More skill, more power — more mastery of your existing power. But light, you shouldn’t let that consume you. Especially if you were delving.

He didn’t even try to practice. And the Lady knew he was a combat class. Well, for his case it was because practice’s experiences didn’t really come without new innovation — new understanding of how one’s power worked. Try that in the middle of fighting anything harder than slimes, and gashing wounds would be the least of his worry.

And to make things worse,[Transporters] was one of those ‘explored’ jobs since everyone needed one to move things. Miners needed them, merchants had their own version of the bag, but lots of them still hired three or four transporters if they ran a caravan. And then there delvers — adventurers, shopkeepers who needed to restock their wares, mages with their dust and incense and herbs and everything else. Everyone needed [Transporters].

Consequently, [Transporters’] practice was the most well-known practice. Even above swords’ practice. He didn’t understand it fully, but basically, when you plunged your hand (and not your head, because then you’d be dead) to the bag, you’d have to feel how your items mashed and fitted together. The system would create some kind of puzzle of shapes based on the number of items and kinds of items you put inside. And it was quite a challenge because first, you couldn’t see anything. So just to figure what the puzzle looked like, you needed to touch-feel the mana-frame. Which was a task in itself. Able to finally felt the mana-frame was a cause for celebration since by the nature of the job, people who took transporter job didn’t exactly come from the same stock of people who since their litters taught to feel mana. 

Not to mention the mana-frame felt was different from person to person. So a mentor (if you had one) could only instruct that they should felt something, but what was the thing should felt, that their own personal experience. Rishi said it was like a hay bed that was only half-dried while Mon said it was more like how the soil on the east gate felt after the rain. The point was you were required to feel the mana frame if you want to level up.

However, even if you managed to feel the mana-frame there was also the fact that you were still a transporter. That you transport thing. Meant taking lots of items in and out, changing the puzzle all of the time. That was why high-leveled transporter was rare (and paid heftily). And that was also why transporting jobs that had a lot of downtime like delving was popular. Because it was a good time for eager transporters to practice. Especially the keen one like the boy.

It just too bad that tonight was the night. His practicing would attract too much attention.

The [Windstrider Guard] put down his haversack. Nodding to Lady Arlene who hadn’t fallen asleep. He was on the first watch tonight. It was perfect.

The questions that had been in everyone’s minds back on the company was this; why Winged Lance was delving to the maze? And more importantly, why now? True, that master Clem was collecting points for his trial of persistence. And there was always a stipend paid for new informational exploration, particularly since most people barely holding up there. But, the first could be collected more safely by simply doing guard duty on fourth or, if that become stale, just did few Rust run. That was why it was called the trial of persistence, it measured your willingness to become a B-rank; an expert that everyone could trust. If you just want money, stay C. Much easier.

Not to mention that the second one was more …unlikely. First, the stipend while worth it, was at least half of the mysteries’ difficulty; half-impossible. And it was not just Lis, everyone knew that half of impossible was still impossible. 

Although rolling down his bed, keeping his eyes gazed toward the now starry-green ceiling, there was this rumor... About what exactly, he didn’t know. Even with his tens summer of service, the rumor was out of reach from him. Meaning the rumor was so dangerous — or so enticing, the fact that he was trusted with knowing that there was a rumor was a great honor in itself. 

Shutting his eyes, he could see it. The dots. Lady Emily had been pushing everyone hard; passing all possible encounters, skipping harvests. and ignoring drops —at least the one that exceeds Rishi daily’s [Loot]. 

He was paired with Rishi. The most agreeable transporters the company had.

He was asked to replace Master Rake but pretend that it was a last-minute replacement.

Closing his eyes. He glanced toward sire, snoring. It was wrong, his heart whispering. He knew, he whispered back. But unlike Rishi, with his wide-eyed and his willingness to go back and fro from a place to another, he had been in Master Rake service for calendars. He knew, he knew what it took to survive in this business. When everyone providing the same type of service, the same type of trust, the same type of everything, what remained was ...price. But even price had its cost. 

And this was the cost.

He knocked-tapped his right foot thrice, injecting mana to his bedroll. The simple double-layered stitch, stuffed with sun-basked Erwee fur, flared. The fur on his nape rose. Lady Arlene turned her head to him. Unlike the other who was dead tired, she had a bit of energy left. He maintained a smile, giving a nod before pretending to snuggle. Just [Warmth] enchantment, he could hear she thought. 

Little did she know.

The things about enchantment and rune were that it was possible for them to be chained — sequenced. Actions that trigger reactions. It was one of the greatest secrets of the company. After all, no enchanters would pay heed to little trivia like triggering freezing rune that intertwined to heating rune. Both of them clashed in function. It was useless, so why should they? But Master Raka, while Master Rake doing his best to keep the company afloat, weaved this seemingly unuseful curio into something that would even shock the Grand Magi from the translation wing. The whole working of runes didn’t need to make nominal, everyday sense. As long the first rune preceded the second rune, the second rune could be triggered. 

After all, from [Light] to [Harden], mythical [Might], or costly [Sharpen], enchantment sparked by similar, identical mana. And under such mishmash of glare, who could tell, which was which?

Which was [Warmth] and which was [Memo]?

Oskar swallowed his sigh. In his peripheries, he could see that the whole party is fast asleep. Sire snoring was particularly prominent. When it was clear that everyone still tucked safely inside dreamland, Oskar gave a last look around; the crackling campfire, the field of green-red gaily where the seldom screech of [Nightbound] Couchee-cee were heard. Wary from today’s slaughter of their brethren.

No attention was on him.

It was time.

First day observation: Current location: third floor doors. Winged lance delves at a rapid pace. Barring daily meals, the party seems to attempt to reach the maze at record speed. Magic was used without [Meditation] nor mana conservation breaks, harvesting was skipped, and [Looting] was only done for highest-value targets. Nothing yet to be divulged. With the current speed, we'll reach the 5th by the end of the second day. End of observation.

The [Memo] took form. He felt the erwee furs moved, stitching itself to a hidden leather layer between stuffing. Forming words — sentences, paragraphs, and all of the space inbetween. Perfectly written. Perfectly sewn. This alongside the previous rag towel and their dirty clothes, would be sent to 5th to be ‘laundered’. 

He knew. Genius

As the [Memo] finished, the cold started to seep back. The end of [Memo] also ended the [Warmth]. Transmutation was never kind to the amount of charge they took. 

The glow moss stared at him like star stream, like the weeks before sunburst, when day and night melded and melded until the moment it renewed again.

His heart was whispering still; it was not until a bell later that he fell asleep.

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