The soup was ok. The broth was a bit too soupy, a bit too watery for her liking. But the rest? The rest was good. It was meaty, snappy, and a total lie.

Yes.

She lied.

The brew were all water; a hint of salt, and nothing more. The pene were lukewarm, half-cooked, and consequently rock to chew. And to finish it off, the supposedly one good thing, the not underseasoned Erwee’s strips, it were ...burnt. Burnt.

Burnt in a soup.

She should just have been content with her koshi’s tacks, served those with some strips, and finished it off with her Mores. It’d be more or less the same. No. Absolutely the same. But of course, three weeks of not delving and she had turned her into Forgetful Frank; a stupid smush of brain who said ‘yes’ to a first floor soup. Pathetic.

How did it happen? She wasn’t those ‘adventurers’. Those who just because all older teams did it as so, also did as so without ever questioning it. No. Of course not. Dungeon Delving was a class of its own. And reporting it was exhaustive. If she had that kind of attitude, even just a spark, she better said goodbye to her stipend. The ‘soup case’ for example, she had to read through three versions of ‘The Life and Days of [Adventurers]’, ‘Delving: The Known History’, and an entire section of ‘The Promise’.

And there on the last one, on The Promise, it written. That soup just one of the convenient interpretations. Why? Because people who went to the dungeon and people who read the scripture didn’t exactly intersect. Hers and Lyd were a special case of special case.

The passage (which she committed to her memory) went like this:

Two cups of water to replenish, fertile earth’s bounty both hardy and whole. Chant her holy name along with a good cut of flesh. And by Her Grace, your excess would be make sore.

No mention of soup. Just a paragraph explaining that you needed water, grain, vegetable, and meat. That was it. Soup just convenient. After all, you didn’t really have time to boil vegetables properly here. Or prepare a good broth. Not when using fire more than a third of a wick was unadvisable.

Well, soup was cheap. Especially if you’re [Transporter] where every spare slot mattered and water could be magically created. So while she had managed to convert her party to a non-souper, the whole thing kind of fell apart since their current food wasn’t prepared by them.

That was why what she seen now was unsettling. Very unsettling.

“How could you even eat that?”

Left of her was Clem. The man had been awoken for quite a while now and while he was a bit lethargic in the beginning as he usually was, now he was gulping —ravishing really— the whole bowl with abandon. And had she mentioned that was his second servings?

“Sure do, Lene!” he smiled. “Got to keep this strength up!” he said, flexing his arm to her face. Like that scrawny thing was impressive or something.

Still. Did she get the wrong bowl somehow? “Lyd, does the soup taste right to you?” she turned her head to her right. She was pretty sure she got the right bow— and she did. One look at her friend’s full-blown meditative state while she forcing the liquid down, the enchanter bit the question back. “Nevermind…”

“One more, Rish!”

“Y—yes, sir…”

What the heck? Were they even eating the same soup?

“Bud, are ya fine? Lene, go check if his head got any bump?”

“Hey!”

“You know Clem, I’m usually not a worrier.” Emily paused. “Especially with you. But this soup isn’t something you ...err. Eat in droves. Sorry, Rishi,”

“It’s fine, Lady…” the man scratched his head.

“You know what... “ she said, staring at his bowl. Her mana flared. “[Bubble.]”

“Lene!” The man complained as the still water around his spoon pushed into air. The water and bits of jerky and pene undulated little by little until a spoonful worth flew to the air and to her mouth.

“This!”

“What is it?” she stared at him. Boring through his soup. After more careful observation she realized that unlike hers, his broth has this floating speck of brown and purple.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” the man lied. Blatantly.

“Something wrong with his soup?” Rene asked.

“...[Bubble].” she cast again. If he didn’t want to tell them —that was fine. She’d just gave his soup away.

“Hey!” The man tried to scoop the floating bubble. Too late! His frantic spooning only managed caught half of the bubble. The lesser half. The bigger half flew safely to the air, separating itself to three smaller bubbles, and landed on the other’s mouth.

“Hmm, I see,” Rene said, licking his lips. “So, you’ve been holding out a good thing from us, Bud.”

“Umm!” Lyd frantically nodded.

“...wow,” said Emily.

“So do you want to spill it?” the [Blademaster] got up and towered upon now the sweating rogue. “Or should I?”

“Hey—hey! Let’s be reasonable okay.” the man moved his soup to the back. “Emmy, stops him!”

“No skill,” Emily said, playing with her soup. Ha! Serve that boy right, she smiled.

“Emmy!”

“Haha! Got ya now!”

At once, dust and stones and pebbles were flying, the oversized tall man pounced hard as the lanky boy try to knock him from the back. The brawl lasted maybe a half wick, before the scraped beastman, manage to hold him in a headlock.

“Fine, fine!” the tangled boy pulled up a little pouch from his pocket. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Toasted nips and Eanu’s leaves,” he said, frowning. “Elevate flavor.”

“Oooh.” Rene dipped his finger. Licking it.“Where do you get it?”

“It was recipe from Mr. Tren.” Clem sighed. “I make it myself.”

“Then—”

“No,” he said, cutting him off and taking the pouch back. “The thing is Ogre to grow. I only have this little pouch,” he said taking a new spoon, carefully dipping it to her bowl.

“Grow more,” she said, slurping at her much better soup. The cave was filled with murmur of agreement.

“Left.”

It was a bell later. Everyone was well-fed and well-rested. There were few close calls, some stragglers which her [Alarm] detect and Rene summarily disposed, but after waiting for a while there was no sign of any [Minders] coming. So they were now walking —proceeding as planned. The obligatory report could wait until fourth. It wasn’t like the faster sign’s disappearance constituted as an ‘emergency’. While it was concerning the worst that could happen after a bad entering and without sign would be the lost of all your supplies. And weapons. And clothes. The one in your body. And maybe some of your limbs if all of your party was knocked out like four bells long. But it was first floor, come on. There were people all the time. And those who got knocked out for four bells? They shouldn’t be in the dungeon anyway.

Now though, as Emily had said, they were taking left path of the fork. Why? One, the middle one punched straight through, so no. They had a schedule to keep.

Two, the right one curved downward in a meander, so also no. They weren’t insane. That left the left one, the one with jutting, overarching stones and waist-sized boulders. Not perfect. But definitely the best option they had.

And as they entered the fork, the down of her robe flapped a bit. Not often and certainly just a breeze. The air blew seldom, just enough to not be choked yet still very much allowed for a damp and musty cavern. The light was changing also. The glowing moss dimmed, morphed from a long hallway of starry sky to barest twinkles. Just enough natural magelight for eyes to ‘see’. If 'seeing' only ten paces on your front were your acceptable standard. Of course it was doable if you were a dwarf. But this town was like half human. She was human. So without [Light] it was as if she plunged back to the forest with only a crescent moon to light her way. Possible, if you had more than one life that was.

She couldn’t really complain though, that how it was with the dungeons. While they did entice you with magic and treasure, Something about weeding out the uninitiated had always been their way since ...basically forever. There were no built consensus, some said it was a test if a person was worthy to enter their deep. Others said it just consequence of people delving for hundreds and hundreds of calendars. The first floor of course naturally would be safer. People, lots of people had been through there. Those two theories though were nothing compared to what some more ‘forward thinking’ [Scholars] proposed.

Elmenn for example, postulated that the weeding out was part of old bargain to protect the mortal races. Which was controversial to say it nicely. Because first, the text of old bargain was incomplete, filled with fakes, and basically how [King] and [Queen] of old tried to legitimize their rule as divine providence. Second, the available text was so broken — more than half that was available on Everlight library today (the one she had cursory glanced) was based on either speculation, skill reconstruction, or worse, speculation that was claimed as skill reconstruction. But that just the mild reason. The not so mild reason was how Elmenn himself pulled that ‘conclusion’. And no it was not from the old bargain scripts. At least those had traceable historical. Instead, he pulled it from the freaking scripture. Which was insane. Everyone knew how unreliable the scripture was. The Adoration was fine. They were basically praises and ceremonial. The Story? It was entertaining, informing. Not the most contradiction-free of course, but the spirit of ‘be a good person’ was really strong there. But the rest? Wow, those need careful, careful reading.

More than five of distinguished peers (and that by her count alone) condemned the man’s interpretation as deranged. But you knew how those old coots were. They got their tablets, their old scripts handed to them from the comfort of [Hearth Blessed] room where their wrinkly feet frolicking free on the soft erwee-woven carpet. She was a delver. She knew dungeon. She experienced dungeon. And her delver side could acknowledge the possibility that the twenty ninth of The Promise could be interpreted as such.

It read like this:

Worried about the revenge of Altakk, Marba sought aid. But she was alone and she was exiled. Her twenty three springs of duty and the great word of their [Chieftain] had only chained the man for one winter. And when the season passed, when the hut’s stack still billowed the hearth’s black smoke, when the springspurt flowergrass on the glade were shown to be picked, the man would came for his reprisal. Asking to pay the debt unpaid. This she knew.

This she knew that she deserved. For what she had done was done. And what was done could not be undone.

Yet far from the admonishment of her peers; far from the wise ministration of her aunt, the medicinewomen; and far from the counsel of her books, of good words of learned men; her shameful fear, triumphed. The beast, she later would recall, asked her for punishment most cruel —live of indignity and husk. Which she accepted in fear and in cowardice, in worry and unease.

Thus at the night of twin moon, just as the evening star left the sky bosom, and in the bell between day and night, she prayed. She prayed to the pray of all pray. She prayed to the pray most high.

She prayed for Her Intercession.

From her belonging, what had been spared to her to pass the wintertide, she picked the last of her driest Leat. The good one that with only the tiniest of spark would ignite an ember of fire and warmth.

From her body, tainted and blooded and sinned, she picked the one that water had washed, that the river before their freezing had touched —her hairs. Down to the scalp she cut, leaving none but a scald of bush.

And from herself, from her deepest self, she promised her calendars. Moons and moons of all of she had remained. Her praying, her serving. All would be dedicated to Her. She would paint Her the painting of Her people; she would present Her Children the claymaking of Her Likeness. She promised caretaking of Her Pilgrims, she promised to held Her Vigil. Every Moondeep, every Sunburst, every Starmist she would stand in Her name. Together and alone. Until all her devotees slept. Until the sky ended. She promised this on Her Temples, on Her Atrepa, on all the places her believers believed.

Thus like all those that had made prayers before her. Those with a clear heart and none of the good harbors, she was heard.

Bright on her dream. More than flowers of prairie’s summer, Her Flowing Light spoke:

‘From thine blood the power born. And from thine blood the treasure abound. Seek the place of promise. And bring none but thyself and those who assented. If Death allows thee, thou shall find —the answer.’

The rest was her opalescent journey, how she found the first five, how then they marched to the Throne of Sky, their perilous journey, the test of faith, yadda yadda yadda, and how she became the [First Paladdin]. Not really relevant. What relevant was the last passage. Those who assented. That — that according to Ellmann meant that the promised place or the dungeon should have existed before her opalescent found it, and since it existed, those who didn’t ‘assent’, must be driven out somehow. After all Her Light wouldn’t want for Her People to came to harm. And it wasn’t like Throne of Sky inconspicuous. It was a freaking tower piercing through freaking clouds. People flocked there. So yeah, Elmenn might be on to something.

Also, this was a bit of a tangent, but she noticed that sometimes, sometimes but not always, several of the dungeons she ever heard was kind of obvious about the trade-off on their first floor.

The Red Gate here for example? Just look at the center path. Those straight clear roads indicate safety. At most, there would be three gaggles there. Two-person party could even clear it. But of course at the same time, it was the longest one yet to get to the second. Around four times longer.

The right one? That was luck. The worst one. Like luck, the path was always changing, sometimes went up, but most of the time it went down. She, Lyd, and Clem tried it once just for the heck of it, and her light, did they regret it. Apparently, they rolled the worst one yet. It had the center path duration but with two gaggles on every bend. And since it was basically a meander. You could guess what happened by the end of their run.

That was why Emily chose the left one. There’d be several gaggles ambushing them, true. But the total slimes would be manageable. Also, the soup, awful as it was, worked. Her leftover mana now had become less rattled. There were still some sparks popped every wicks or so. Thus in case of emergency, she could shot a [Manablast] or two.

But it wasn’t like she was going to fight. If they popped from cracks right beneath her feet or dropped to her hair, sure. She would give them a good whack. But besides that no. It was the melees’ job.

Like Emily, and Rene, and Clem. The trios walked around the rest of them. Guarding the less physical members since one, the warrior-type wasn’t really affected by entering and two, slimes weren’t worth the mana.

Sigh. The wicks passed and the room was still silent. No ambush. Nothing. The only thing there was the floor, the ceiling, the rocks, the crevice, the moss —basically whatever soft yellow light from Rishi’s staff lighted up. Should she just trance? It wasn’t like they need her. Sure she’d need to dedicate like three entire processes to just walking, danger-detecting, and a social. Leaving her with barely one slot opened for whatever her ‘self’ thought was more important at the moment. Yet just as she began to chant the mnemonic, the rogue, likely bored, spoke.

“So…?” he said, stepping closer to her. His head tilted sideways while still maintaining a lookout upfront.

“So ...what?” she stopped her chanting. While she hated inefficiencies, chatting was well —tolerable. It wasn’t she was going to get anything done trancing anyway. With only one process active, it’d just be another five or six in a hundred. Not much.

“Your meeting of course,” he continued, now in a whisper. “How is that great magician you’re talking about. Is he old? Oh, does he has a beard? I bet he has a beard.”

“It’s grand magi…” she arced her eyebrow, frowning at the man’s overactive imagination. “And no Clem. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ha! You got kicked, weren’t you?” she flushed, a tinge of warmth crept up on her cheek. This bastard! What did he mean she got kicked? She didn’t even meet him yet.

“Wait, wait, wait.” he jumped back, evading her staff. Missed, she tried again. Which he evaded again. How did Rene even get this slimy guy?

Yet as her staff miss— almost hit him for the third time, the guy suddenly turned still and peered upward. “EMMY!” he shouted. “THREE GAGGLES! CEILING!”

“GOT IT!”

Emily shouted back and the party halted. The slimes, having their ambush point revealed, dropped themselves to the ground in blob and plop. Careening toward Emily and Oskar at a hopping speed. Suppressing her harrumph, she flared her mana sense to live. Looking if there was any — there!

“Lyd, third one right of you!”

Hearing her shout, the girl side-stepped twice, evading the jumping, mouth-gaping slime that had been spurting acid and goos. The mage thrust her staff in one downward motion toward the slime she mentioned. At once, two other slimes, the green that her mana sense told her as [Moss] eating variant, jumped to block the thrust. Of course, the little goblin was guarded. Why wouldn’t it be. Yet as she thought that her friend’s attack failed, her staff’s threaded crystal flared red. It burned through one of the slimes and punctured the middle one with a splat.

“D—done! Is there any more, Arl?” the girl said, kicking the remaining green slime who ran to her with revenge. The water bag splattered into the wall leaving a trail of sticky goo.

“No.” she pinched her nose, wincing at the smell of moss. “All gone. The [Flash] one all gone.”

“Okay, thanks!” the girl leaped and rejoined the fray.

“Don’t you need to help them?” she said, lifting her staff slowly to her back.

“Nope!” the man said, taking three steps to the right still smiling.

“Hmph!”

“Lene, you coming off too strong.”

“If I was you, and I said that because I’m your friend, and not because I want to be you, you should relax.”

“Clem…”

“Buy some stuff, take it slow! Two weeks, no, a moon. You wait for a moon then you pounce.” he smirked. What the heck. What did he think she was? A frit?

“Clem! I didn’t get thrown!” she huffed. “The store is closed.”

“Closed?”

“Yes!”

“Really closed?”

“What do you mean really closed?”

“Well, sometimes when a person got embarrassed, not you. Another person, they’d tell a lie to as not appear—”

THWACK!

“They’re closed.” her staff pressed even further to his stupid head, denting his stupid hair. “Really closed.”

“Lene!” he jumped back.

“You deserve it.” she harrumphed. “They had this announcement and all.”

“Announcement? What announcement?”

“I don’t know. A sheaf saying they’re closed until the end of this week.”

“Err.” he paused for a second, his smile ceased. “You’re sure?

“Yes!” she said exasperated. “What do I get for lying anyway?”

“If that’s true then—”

“—crevice ambush! CLEM, GET IN HERE!”

“We’ll talk later,” he said before sprinting toward the front, his dagger unsheathed.

Huh. What did he mean by that? Was there something wrong? She meant store sometimes close, right? She didn’t like it of course, but that just stuff that happened.

...whatever, she had job to do.

Flashing her eyes, she blinked. Looking for any remaining [Flash] slimes.