Rob lazily stepped to the side, rolling his eyes as an incoming sword strike missed him by a hair. His opponent – an animated skeleton – chittered in frustration as it prepared to attack again. Rob wasn't sure how it was chittering, what with the lack of a voice box and all, but who was he to argue with Dungeon logic?

As if reading his mind, the skeleton screeched even louder and swung its sword in a vicious overhead slice. Good grief, he thought, reaching out to catch the blade with an open palm. Its razor-sharp edge gave him the equivalent of a paper cut. This would've been intimidating half a year ago. Now I just feel like I'm bullying a particularly spooky toddler.

The skeleton struggled in vain to wrench its sword from Rob's grasp. The BERSERKER pulled it forward, bringing up his knee to meet the creature's unprotected jaw. Rob winced and sputtered as a cloud of bone dust sprayed upwards. "God damnit, it's in my eye!"

It was a moment of vulnerability that would have spelled certain death in equal combat. Another skeleton capitalized by bringing its large, spiked club directly onto Rob's head.

23 Bludgeoning Damage Received!

"You guys need to work out more," Rob said. With one arm, he rubbed bone dust out of his eyes, and with the other, he backhanded the skeleton with enough force to disassemble it into pieces. Its remains scattered over the floor as if he'd punted a LEGO set. "Then again, would lifting even do anything? You've got no muscles to grow." He shook his head. "Really, you shouldn't be able to move at all! These logical inconsistencies are highly preposterous. I'd like to speak to your manager about them."

Maybe it was his imagination, but Rob could have sworn that he saw the third skeleton's jaw twitch in frustration. The sight brought a smile to his face. I guess bullying is okay in moderation.

Skeleton #3 stabbed its spear forward, and Rob cut the weapon horizontally across its shaft, leaving the skeleton holding a shortened stick with a jagged edge. The maneuver was actually more difficult than simply cutting the skeleton itself, and wouldn't have been possible against a skilled opponent. Rob's Swordsmanship still wasn't up to par with the rest of Riardin's Rangers. That hardly mattered when the Dexterity difference between him and his opponent was so vast, though, and this way he got to feel like a badass. It was a great opportunity to stop worrying about optimal combat choices and just have some fun. Nothing in this Dungeon could remotely threaten him – a quick Identify was proof enough of that.

Name: Animated Fiend Skeleton

Level: 12

Status Effects: Undead

Description: A Dungeon monster born of tainted mana coalescing into a form of malice. To a native Elatran, encountering a flesh-stripped golem would have been primo nightmare fuel, regardless of any Level advantage. To an Earth expat raised on horror movies and stupid internet memes, the skelly's shambling comes across as more comical than scary.

"For once, I agree with you," Rob muttered aloud, as he crushed Skeleton #3 into a fine powder. Shattered bones lay strewn around his feet; the aftermath of the last dozen skeletons that tried to repel him. And that was just on this floor of the Dungeon – Rob had swept through five total floors like a weed whacker through a flower garden, leaving heaps of calcium and marrow in his wake. So far the worst injury he'd received was stepping on a spike trap for 87 damage, and that was already healed thanks to Regeneration Level 19.

He almost felt guilty. This Dungeon seemed to be going for a neat little horror theme, with rooms full of darkness, foreboding ambiance, and skeletons rising from their graves. It was pretty much the best effort one could expect from a newborn Dungeon. With that said, it wasn't an aberrant Dungeon containing built-in bullshit like the Dreamthieves, which limited its options. It also only had one type of enemy, all Level 13 or lower, while Rob was Level 51. Overcoming that big of a Level difference was impossible.

Well, almost impossible, Rob thought. If you're a Soul Eater loaded up with Enchanted Items and Soul Burn-

He smacked his forehead. No! Bad thoughts! Go away! That was the biggest problem Rob was facing at the moment. As fun as it had been to steamroll the Dungeon's first few floors, he was running out of ways to entertain himself. The Dungeon crawl wasn't hitting that sweet spot of 'challenging, but not life-threatening' that would serve as pure distraction fodder. He was starting to go on autopilot, which meant that he'd have more time to think, and therein led the path to – dare he say it – introspection.

"Come on, man!' Rob yelled, as he juggled a pair of skulls. "You're losing me! Give me something interesting to work with!"

Two nearby walls suddenly extended forward, growing spikes as they closed in on Rob from both sides. In the span of an instant, Rob activated Bulk Up, the Anklet of Moderate Brawn, and raised his arms outwards. Both walls slammed into his outstretched palms, screeching to a halt. A couple spikes managed to pierce through his skin, but they only did about 29 damage in total. Regeneration would have him patched up in less than a minute.

"Fiiiiine," Rob grumbled, waving blood off his hands as he descended a staircase to the next floor. "I guess I should actually address my problems while I'm here." He took a deep breath, steeled his resolve, and allowed the thought that had been skirting on the edge of his mind to come to the forefront.

Vul'to might die. And even if he didn't, he might not be Vul'to anymore.

It was an outcome that Rob needed to mentally prepare himself for. The fact that Vul'to's Status Screen couldn't properly display his name was telling. It implied things that Rob wasn't sure the Elatran natives fully understood. While they'd studied their souls extensively, their knowledge of basic biology was at a medieval-era level, maybe lower. A world with healing magic didn't need to learn as much about how bodies functioned to achieve the same degree of medical care.

Rob, however, was from Earth. He'd taken science classes, gone on wikipedia binges, and watched plenty of medical dramas – dubious as they were. He probably knew more about how the human body worked than literally anyone else in Elatra, and the other races were similar enough for his knowledge to be transferable. For example, he knew that a person's sense of self resided in their brain. It was where memories were collected, electric synapses firing as chemicals brewed in response to stimuli, slowly taking the shape of a personality molded by years of nature and nurture.

That knowledge may have been widespread on Earth, but not so much to a world where souls were proven to exist. While Elatrans knew that the brain was a vital organ necessary for bodily functions, they didn't believe that it was the center of consciousness. Instead, they believed that a person's sense of self resided fully within their soul.

And to be fair, they weren't entirely wrong. Souls in Elatra did also contain a person's consciousness. While Rob wasn't sure what the exact relationship between souls and brains were, each one was clearly integral to an Elatran's survival. Both functioned in tandem; remove a soul, and the brain would shut down. A part of him wanted to default to a more Earth understanding of biology, writing off the 'souls' as something akin to mana battery packs that kept people going, but...

He'd heard the screams when the Soul Eater's prisoners were set free.

As he thought about it, Rob became increasingly certain that the nature of an Elatran's hybrid brain/soul consciousness was the reason why soul transfers never worked. Their Surgeons thought they were placing a single consciousness into an empty shell, but as long as the body's brain was there, it was more like shoving a second brain in the same head. Either the first consciousness would reject the second, or the two would destroy themselves in a bid for supremacy. Diplomacy only existed in a semi-stable condition within Rob's head due to piggybacking off of his body's original soul, and even then the Skill's consciousness was in danger of being absorbed.

Rob snarled as he stomped a skeleton into dust. He wished he wasn't so confident in his deductions, because all of them sucked. The Soul Eater's altered biology might allow for the possibility of a successful soul transfer, but in the end, his original brain was still there. The best-case scenario Rob could imagine was that when Vul'to awoke, the Souls Eater's presence would be nothing more than pre-existing memories without a will of their own. Like Vul'to software running on Soul Eater hardware.

He didn't want to imagine the worst-case scenarios.

"What do you think, Jimmy?" Rob crouched down near a skeleton that had lost its arms and legs. The creature was wriggling like a worm exposed to the sun, its jaw gnashing impotently in an attempt to gnaw Rob's kneecaps off. "Should I suppress the shit out of this train of thought or let it reach the end of the station?"

Gnash. Chitter.

"You always know just what to say." Rob brought his fist down, turning his eyes away from the cloud of shards and dust. "No point in stopping here. I'm...going to need to get used to this feeling."

Rob wasn't naive. He knew how incredibly fucking lucky the Deserters had been up to this point. They'd lost a third of their people, but that was honestly a paltry number when compared to the trials they'd overcome. The Village's invasion. The journey north. The Blight of Broadwater City. The Black Wind. By all rights, they should've been wiped out ages ago. Riardin's Rangers had been especially lucky – only losing Alia and Tarric in The Village's invasion, back before they'd even chosen a name for their group. Rob hadn't experienced true grief since then.

It was simply a matter of time until he did. Riardin's Rangers were heading on a collision course for the strongest entities in Elatra. He'd do his damnedest to ensure everyone's survival, but life was fragile. A mistake made in a single instant could cut years of potential short. Their thoughts, emotions, and dreams, silenced forever.

"Eventually, people under your leadership will die," Elder Alessia had told him, back in Esternard City. "It is an inevitability. The sun rises in the morning, the stars twinkle in the night sky, and Combat Class users perish in battle."

She was right. Rob knew that very well. He needed to accept the stark reality that Riardin's Rangers weren't invincible. The 'Lord Blightkiller' couldn't afford to go to pieces whenever a friend died. Too much was riding on him for that. Plan to survive, but prepare for the worst – that was the mature thing to do.

So why was it that accepting reality left him feeling so unsatisfied?

Rob jumped down another set of stairs, raising his eyebrows at what he found. Rather than an expansive floor with open spaces and interlocking hallways, he was in a small thirty-by-thirty room with no exits in sight. A crowd of two dozen skeletons awaited him, wielding...the exact same implements as all the others.

"Already made it to the bottom, huh?" Rob commented. "Neat. Well, this has been a nice palate cleanser, but I just got a Message from Keira demanding to know why I didn't take her on a Dungeon date, so I've officially run out of time to play." He spread his arms out and strolled forward, footsteps echoing on solid marble. "You get one free shot against me. Use it wisely. Show me something cool."

The skeletons exchanged glances. Immediately, they dropped their weapons and converged into a chittering mosh pit. Rob watched with a muted sense of awe as the skeletons climbed on top of each other, gradually forming a pair of huge legs, a torso, arms, and finally, a head, all made up of fused bone mass.

Name: Animated Colossal Skeleton

Level: 21

Status Effects: Undead

Description: A Dungeon monster born of tainted mana coalescing into a form of malice. This one definitely drank its milk when growing up.

Rob smiled and gave them a polite golf clap. "Bravo! I respect it. Always been a fan of the Megazord angle – bigger enemies are fun." His smile deepened, canines showing. "It means more pieces to break."

With a chittering roar, the Colossal Skeleton reared its arm back, preparing to strike with a bony fist. Rob stood still, patiently waiting. After all, he'd promised them one free shot, and who was he to break a promise?

The Colossal Skeleton swung its arm down, putting its full body weight into the motion. Partway through, a gigantic sword of mana materialized within its hand.

Wait, what-

Shclorp.

Rob glanced at his shoulder. The Skeleton's massive sword, at least ten feet long, had sunk maybe six inches into Rob's flesh before being stopped short by Vitamin D(efense)-empowered bone.

79 Cutting Damage Received!

"If it makes you feel any better," Rob said, summoning his longsword from Spatial Storage, "it wouldn't have mattered even if you cut me in half." He activated Flames of Vengeance and Imbue Vitality, springing forward. "That was your one shot. My turn."

The fight that followed was so one-sided that Rob had already forgotten it by the time it finished. To his surprise, several system notifications popped up right after.

Reached Level 52!

5 Stat Points Gained!

BERSERKER Level Increased! 48 -> 49

Passive Skill Learned!

Name: Bone Breaker (RARE)

Prerequisite: Break over five hundred enemy bones within a short period.

Description: Damage dealt to enemies' bone structure is doubled. The kind of Skill generally reserved for battle-crazed sadists, but you just so happened to wander into a skeleton factory, so enjoy the freebie.

Rob let out a low whistle. Apparently, soloing an entire fledgling Dungeon had barely been enough for him to Level up and learn a Skill. And thanks to Sharing Hand, most of his allies gained a Level as well. They wouldn't be taking on the Dragon Queen anytime soon, but progress was progress.

Come back soon, Vul'to, Rob thought, with forced optimism. I want to see the look on your face when you realize you gained a Level in your sleep.

--

Three days passed with no developments, good or otherwise. Riardin's Rangers had continued standing vigil by Vul'to, but it was becoming evident that they wouldn't be able to predict if and when his condition would change. According to Malika, his mana signature was fluctuating wildly – she couldn't make heads or tails of it. The Soul Surgeons were equally stumped, and they didn't want to attempt any invasive procedures while Vul'to was stabilizing. He was essentially stuck in limbo for the time being.

Unfortunately, as Vul'to slumbered, Elatra moved on. The Blight was still out there, infesting Loci of Power in distant lands, and it wasn't going to wait for Riardin's Rangers to become a complete unit again. As much as the Party wanted to hold off on advancing their plans until Vul'to returned...they couldn't. Not in good conscience. At the very least, Vul'to definitely wouldn't have wished for them to wallow in sorrow for weeks on end.

And so, plans that had been put on pause were set in motion once more. Preparations for the Deadlands World Tour resumed. Riardin's Rangers adjusted their battle strategies to account for their lack of a dedicated frontliner. Relations between the Deserters and Fiends were patched up with an honest-to-God press conference headed by Rob and a Grand Overseer.

Rob felt like he needed to wash his mouth out with soap after that. So many words with so little meaning.

Still, everything was proceeding on course. Today's docket included another meeting between the big movers and shakers of Fiendland. Well, the ones Rob knew personally, anyway. There were obviously political shenanigans happening in the background that he didn't know about – and he was more than happy to keep it that way. Fighting monsters was a hell of a lot easier than navigating the egos of people with too much influence for their own good.

"You don't understand my pain," Rob said, voicing his frustrations to Keira. They'd arrived earlier than the others, and were engaging in small talk to pass the time. "The bribes, sure, that's whatever. Getting approached by shady figures with bags of gold is funny. And I don't mind signing the occasional autograph for Joe Schmo on the street. Public speaking, though?"

He gagged. "Nope. Never again. Worst part is, I'm fairly certain that it put me on some bigwigs' radars. If I get asked to join a secret cabal because I repeated canned phrases in front of a crowd, I might just lose my mind."

"Oh, how tragic," Keira drawled. "If only you had some way of easing that stress. A Dungeon Crawl, perhaps? With a beautiful Elf by your side who hasn't tasted proper battle in ages?"

Rob cleared his throat, his smile wavering under Keira's flat stare. A moment later, her lips twitched in amusement. "To clarify, I'm not actually upset with you for going on the Dungeon Crawl alone," she continued. "While I would have liked the opportunity to let loose, I understand why you felt an urgent need to distract yourself." She smirked. "With that said, it's my right as your lover to demand recompense for this grievous injustice."

Rob laughed. "I'll think of something. How about I participate in one of your boxing seminars? High Vitality means I make for a pretty good punching bag."

"What? No!" Keira exclaimed. "I don't want to hurt you, even in that setting. It would feel wrong." She paused, brows furrowing. "Although if you were to attend as an observer, I'm sure it would boost the session's popularity...hmm..."

"Feel free to abuse my 'star power' however you want," Rob said, grimacing as if he'd bit into a rotten apple. "Ugh, that's still so weird to say. I'd better not become a celebrity when I get back to Earth. There's no way I make it a week without punching the paparazzi."

"What are paparazzi?"

"Bloodsucking parasites masquerading as humans."

Keira crossed her arms. "And you aren't allowed to beat them into submission?" She shook her head. "For all of Earth's societal advancements, sometimes it seems backwards in the strangest ways."

"They're not literally parasites," Rob explained. "I was using an analogy."

"I'm aware."

Diplomacy remarked, sounding exhausted.

It's more fun for me too. Rob paused. You okay, man?

The Skill conjured an image of itself laying in a hospital sick bed.

"Not liking this trend of my friends needing emergency medical treatment," Rob muttered darkly. Keira glanced at him with a curious expression, and he pointed to his forehead. Understanding dawned on her face. Mercifully, she said nothing, choosing simply to grab his hand and hold tight.

Rob let out a contented sigh of relief. It never ceased to amaze him how such a small gesture could calm him so thoroughly. Keira really was so much more than he deserved.

Don't think that I won't hit a sick person.

The Elders, Grand Overseers, and other members of Riardin's Rangers arrived within the next few minutes. Rob examined each of his Party members in turn, mostly satisfied with what he found. They seemed to be doing...okay. As good as he could have hoped for, all things considered. He'd check in with them again after the meeting was over.

A subdued sense of awkwardness hung in the air as everyone settled into their seats. The Grand Overseers were well aware of Meyneth's threats to the Soul Surgeon, and while they couldn't really do anything about it, that didn't mean that it was water under the bridge. Half of them were eyeing Meyneth as if she was a rabid animal liable to go wild at any given moment.

"I'd like to put forth a proposal," the Dragonkin herself began. "The Enchanted Items that Krazan stole are the most powerful of their kind in Fiend territory. It would assist our cause greatly if we were to requisition them."

Rob almost burst out laughing at the affronted looks on the Overseers' faces. It was a reasonable reaction on their part, but these days, he would take his humor where he could get it. "Those Enchanted Items belong to the victims' families," an Overseer hissed, her tone laced with venom. "They have lost people that they deeply cared for, and are just now learning that their loved ones didn't merely disappear – their souls were devoured. You would ask that we rip the one thing resembling closure away from mourners filled with renewed grief?"

"Many more families will mourn if we do not stop the Blight," Meyneth plainly stated. "Tell them that their contribution would serve a noble purpose."

"No," a second Overseer said, putting his foot down. "Not this quickly. They deserve a period of solitude before we start intruding upon their lives." His eyes narrowed. "You, of all people, should understand the necessity of time to grieve."

Meyneth's mouth slammed shut. The awkward atmosphere came roaring back, now so thick that Rob could practically taste it. He tentatively raised his hand, putting on a brittle smile as a dozen pair of eyes turned to look at him. "Soooo..." he began. "Deadlands World Tour! That's a fun topic that everyone can agree on."

The Overseers' postures relaxed by a hair. "Did you have a proposal in mind as well?" a third Overseer asked. "Preferably one less obscene."

"Sure do!" Rob exclaimed, barreling past their last remark. "I was thinking that we should enter the Deadlands by crossing its border located within southern Elven territory. You've already teleported us there once, so it'll be a lot easier for the mages to do it again. Additionally, Ixatan Forest has been empty ever since The Village was invaded, so we won't encounter any resistance on our way to the border. Finally, it'll let us check in on The Village and see if its Locus of Power is still cleansed."

The Overseers paused, falling into deep contemplation. Rob couldn't help but grin – it wasn't often that his suggestions went over so smoothly with them. They usually played devil's advocate, if only because he needled them whenever he got the chance.

So of course, his moment of triumph was ruined by an out-of-breath Fiend bursting into the room.

"What-" an Overseer began, before trailing off. The room fell deathly quiet. They recognized the Fiend; he was a messenger that they'd met on several occasions. And a messenger only ever arrived out-of-breath when their news was very good, or very bad.

"Dwarves," he exhaled. "Amassing at the border. Fifty or so. Staying on the edge. Waiting."

A wave of alarm spread throughout the room. "Why now?" Elder Alessia asked, saying what was on everyone's minds. "We haven't heard so much as a whisper from the Dwarves for months. What changed?"

The messenger held up a sheet of paper. "This may provide an explanation." He hesitated. "At least, I assume it will. The Dwarves were holding up a large banner inscribed with words written in that filthy language of theirs." He shuddered. "It took seven of us to copy it all down. The others are still nursing a headache from staring too long. Hopefully, these actually are words – not just errant scribbles – and the Deserters can translate."

Riardin's Rangers and the Elders rushed forward, nearly mobbing the poor messenger as they snatched the paper out of his hands. Sure enough, the Dwarves had written a legitimate message – one that caused Rob's eyes to bulge by the second sentence.

"Assuming that the Fiends possess an ounce of intelligence, they will hand this missive to someone who can read Common. We know that Elves and a Human reside within Fiend territory. If the Elves do not present themselves within twenty-four hours, we will assume that they are captives or dead. Make sure that you bring the Human if he yet lives. Otherwise, our vengeance will be swift and without mercy.

Signed,

Stonewarden Grant of the Dwarves"