“Stay in the back, porter.”

The growled utterance caused Rowan to nod, careful not to let his displeasure show in his face.

With a snort, the one who had given the command turned away, his footsteps heavy as he moved forward. “We’ll be going ahead; process those corpses and earn your pay for once, useless moneygrubber…”

Shooting a glare at the man’s retreating back, Rowan waited for the party he was with to advance a few dozen feet before moving, not daring to get too close lest he incur the leader’s wrath once more.

They were in a brass-ranked dungeon, already on the second floor after making short work of the first. The party he had joined up with this time was a group of second years from House Lykia, all of them beastmen. Their natural power and speed on full display, the beastmen overwhelmed the inhabitants of the dungeon, a group of dog-like creatures known as Felupins.

Standing roughly waist-height to Rowan, with powerful jaws and reddish brown fur that blended with the shadows of the dungeon, they were normally among the more dangerous beasts to inhabit brass-ranked dungeons, causing heavy casualties to beginner adventurers.

Unfortunately for the poor Felupins, the party he was with, the Jackal Claws, had no such troubles. In less than an hour, they had already cut their way through the entire first floor, and a decent chunk of the second, leaving a trail of wolf corpses in their wake for Rowan to process.

Bending down, Rowan sawed at the right forepaw of the corpse nearest to him, chopping through the bones and connective tissues as he removed it from its previous owner and tossed it in his sack. While normally he would have been thrilled to have such a powerful party in front of him, the attitude of the Lykians towards their porter left much to be desired.

Rude, dismissive, and even downright abusive, the treatment he had received today was by far the worst he had ever gotten in his two months as a porter. It was not as if poor treatment of porters was unusual. Some parties disliked the cut they were forced to set aside for a porter, arguing that even the pitiful thirtieth that was the norm was too much when they were the ones putting their lives on the line for the loot.

To be honest, it was hard for Rowan to fully disagree. As a porter, it was his choice whether or not he participated in combat. If the dungeon was too difficult, he would just stand at the back, keeping an eye out for any potential ambushes as the party he was with battle tooth and nail with the inhabitants of the dungeon. From what he gathered, this was fairly normal among porters, although it was tough to say for sure.

Although Kanna had told him that porters in most places tended to talk among each other, sharing information with their fellows about which parties gave the best cuts, which treated them the worst, and which should just be avoided at all costs, this was not the case at Faebrook.

Porters at the academy were students who had not managed to do well enough to find themselves a place in a party. Given how driven each and every Faebrook student was, this was not a situation most were content with for long. Those who were relegated to porter duty trained their hardest, doing their utmost to earn a proper place in a party and leave their shameful days as a porter behind.

As such, there was no such organization of porters at Faebrook, only a loose collection of characters who were all convinced that they would soon be rid of the embarassing role. As a result, without the information system porters in other regions had to benefit from, Rowan was forced to gain his knowledge on porters from Kanna and the parties that hired him.

For the most part, this had worked out well. Sure some parties were ruder than he felt was necessary towards their temporary baggage carrier, but even the worst of those parties usually acted civil towards their hired companion. Not so the Jackal Claws.

From the start, their leader, a hulking jackal beastman known as Klou, had been short towards Rowan. There had been no negotiation of his fee as was usually the custom. Instead, he had been told he would be given a fortieth, and to either accept it or leave.

In retrospect, that should have been his first warning, and he should have cut his losses and left them to enter the dungeon alone. Unfortunately, with no other options and nothing else going on today, Rowan had accepted, and that was where his woes had begun.

Within the dungeon, Klou took every opportunity to berate, deride, and degrade Rowan, whether it was for being too slow in processing the Felupin corpses, not following along quickly enough, following along too quickly, or even for just looking at him the wrong way.

Rowan was also yelled at during combat when he got too close to the fray, the Jackal Claws apparently neither requiring nor desiring help from a lowly porter. In a way, it was reminiscent of his days back in Taureen, eating abuse from every direction as he did his best just to get by, and as a result, Rowan hated it.

Asshole. That was Rowan’s honest evaluation of Klou, and his party members were little better. However, he kept that to himself. Klou was a noble, and getting in a fight with a noble would do him no favours. Better to just lie low, complete the job, and never work for the bastard again. Plus, there was a survivability aspect to it. Calling the mentally deranged party leader out in front of his party in the bowels of a dungeon could only end poorly for Rowan, no matter how he sliced it.

And so, Rowan endured, processing the Felupin corpses and doing his best to keep up with the Jackal Claws as they delved deeper into the dungeon. In front of him, Geneser, the party healer, fingered his spear lovingly, cleaning the blood off its tip with a cloth as he glanced back at Rowan to make sure he was doing as ordered.

Rowan thought it weird that the Jackal Claws’ healer used a spear as a weapon, every healer he had partied with until now had opted to use either magic or a bow in order to stay out of harm’s way. However, it was tough to deny the effectiveness of Geneser’s spear, and Rowan doubted that the meerkat beastman would be willing to answer his questions on the topic.

It probably has something to do with the whole warrior culture of the south thing. As a resident of Taureen, Rowan was well accustomed to the behaviours of beastmen, Taureen being very close to the border the Valendian Empire shared with the Coalition of Beast Tribes to the south.

A proud race, the beastmen valued strength above all, and this had never been more obvious to Rowan than here inside a dungeon with the five of them. At least the coyote beastman who had broken his arm during the test of skill had been his opponent at the time. These five seemed likely to do it for the sin of being weak.

Tossing the last Felupin paw into his sack, Rowan hurried after the party, who had disappeared down the hallway. A minute later Rowan emerged into a small room, just in time to hear Klou calling his name.

“You’re slow, narsaani,” Klou mocked him, calling him the jackalmen name for weakling. Rowan’s ears burned at this, but he held his tongue. Narsaani technically meant weakling in the jackal tongue, but it’s true meaning was closer to pathetic, or cripple. To put it bluntly, it was a slur, and something other beastmen would react strongly to if it was directed towards them. He had witnessed more than one fight as a result of the honour-obsessed beastmen reacting badly to such a slur, and he had no desire to recreate those bloody scenes.

Fortunately, Rowan had experience in ignoring such slurs. The only reason he understood the jackal dialect was due to the abundance of trade Taureen performed with the beast tribes of the south. Even a street rat could pick up a word here and there, especially the explicit ones that were most often directed at their kind. So long as he didn’t reveal that he understood the insults Klou threw his way, the jackalman would eventually grow tired of provoking him.

Seemingly disappointed that Rowan had not risen to the bait, Klou turned to the rest of the party. “We’ll rest here for a minute,” Klou ordered, motioning for the party to sit down in front of the ornate door that stood at the far end of the room. “Lekaar, figure out how to get the door open.”

“Yes, boss,” Lekaar, a mouse beastman responded, his figure defeated as he immediately rose from the spot he had just collapsed on, his eyes lingering for a moment on the food that Geneser was distributing.

As the Jackal Claws’ archaeologist, Lekaar was probably the second most poorly treated member in the party after Rowan. Although his combat power was higher than any other archaeologist Rowan had ever partied with, it apparently was not enough for Klou, who derided his efforts in combat and made light of his archaeologist abilities, as if anyone could solve the various puzzles and traps of the dungeon they were in.

I’d like to see Klou solve something for once, Rowan thought as he stood off to the side, not daring to sit down lest he risk the beastman’s wrath. I bet the only thing between those dog ears of his is more muscle.

Although Lekaar had not been too kind to Rowan either, he had at least refrained from mocking him in the same way that Klou and his slayer companions, a pair of jackal beastmen called Onder and Geski had. As far as Rowan could tell, they were from the same tribe as Klou himself, and the three were thick as thieves, an expression that Rowan, as a former thief, had always hated.

“Try to be quick about it this time, yeah?” Geski called after Lekaar, earning himself a toothy grin from his boss. For his part, Lekaar nodded meekly, his footfalls soft as he approached the door.

Geneser finished distributing the food, none of which went to Rowan, whose stomach growled hungrily at the sight of the jerky they were feasting on. Commanding his stomach to settle down, Rowan stood like a statue, waiting for Lekaar to solve the puzzle of the door as the Jackal Claws bantered lightly between themselves.

Turning his own attention to the door, Rowan stared at it, doing his best to get his attention off the mouth-watering aroma of meat that wafted from the beastmen’s feast. Ten feet tall, the door was ancient, though not as old as the Windian door that he had encountered in his first dungeon with the Frost Blades.

Covered in runes, the door stood firm as Lekaar pushed and prodded at the intricately carved stone. A minute went by, then two, the door unmoved even in the face of a few spells the mouseman cast, the emerald magic sinking into the engraved runes to no visible effect.

Two minutes turned to five, and five to ten, Lekaar growing increasingly frantic in his efforts to get the door open. Behind him, the other members of the Jackal Claws had finished their meal, and were now staring balefully towards him as he continued to work.

“Any day now, Lek,” Geski yelled mockingly.

“Yeah,” Onder jeered. “We’ve made good time, but you’re wasting that effort.”

“This is why you can’t trust mousemen,” Geski told his companion, not bothering to keep his voice down. “Useless herbivores, the lot of them.”

At the door, Lekaar’s ears went flat, but he gave no other indication that he’d heard his party mate, opting instead to continue working at the door that impeded their progress.

Nearby, Rowan perked up as the mouseman’s fingers ran over the top of a rune, a familiar sound causing his ears to twitch. Staring closely at the rune that Lekaar had just touched, Rowan’s eyes could just make out a hairline fracture, barely visible where the rune curved downwards to meet another that intersected it a few inches below.

A fracture? Or a separation? Rowan’s brows knit together as he considered the matter. From the looks of it, the door was not arcane in nature, but mechanical, the runes engraved upon it serving as a form of misdirection to throw those who would attempt to solve it’s mystery off the scent.

If he was right, the rune that Lekaar had just touched was actually a hidden lever that would cause the door to spring open. This was a trick he had seen utilized in more than a few of the wealthier estates he had been hired to burglarize back in Taureen, though usually those doors were disguised as bookshelves, not as doors.

“Lekaar,” a threatening growl sounded from behind Rowan, as Klou finally lost his patience. “Hurry up.”

“Y-yes, boss!” Lekaar squeaked, wringing his hands as he glanced frantically at the door.

For a moment, Rowan considered whether or not to help the mouseman. After all, he had not stepped in when Rowan was being berated by his companions, and should Rowan’s hunch prove to be wrong, it was doubtful that Klou would just let it go. But still… His commission, pitiful as it was, depended on the amount of loot they were able to procure from the dungeon, and boss rooms always contained the best loot.

In the end, self-interest won out over self-preservation. Striding forward, Rowan made as if to lean on the door, doing his best to act like he just wanted a place to rest against. As he did, his hand reached upward, grabbing onto the piece of the door where he had seen the fracture earlier, and pulling down.

With a shuddering noise, the door jerked forward, before smoothly sliding open to reveal the room beyond.

For a moment, Rowan couldn’t believe his eyes. Through the door lay a room of lush greenery, verdant grass sprawling across a circular field. Little bushes littered the area, like a forest floor without the forest, and a small pond trickled softly near the center of the room. Light shone from the walls and ceiling, tiny gems embedded in the walls illuminating the idyllic scene that lay below.

We’re still in a dungeon, right? Although Rowan couldn’t say that he had a ton of experience within dungeons, he had entered more than a few in the last couple weeks, and none of them had ever made him question whether they were still underground or not.

As the door ground to a halt, Klou’s eyes lingered on Rowan for a moment, clearly wondering how he had figured out the mechanism that had befuddled his party’s archaeologist.

“The porter saved you, Lek,” Klou rumbled, rising to his feet and fixating the mouseman with a dark look. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Yes,” Lekaar replied, glaring hatefully at Rowan who returned the look with an innocent gaze. Behind the smile though, he was fuming. He had just saved the mouseman’s hide, and now he was being treated as the enemy? Damn nobles.

“As for you,” Klou turned to Rowan. “Stay put. Don’t expect me to risk my life to save you if you get yourself in trouble while we’re fighting.”

Rowan nodded, his face a mask of understanding as he played the role of the perfect porter. Apparently satisfied, Klou turned and led the party into the room, his axe clutched tightly as he held his shield in front of him. Despite all his shortcomings, he was a competent warrior, and it was this abundance of competence that saved his life.

A dark shadow obscured the light from the gems above, blotting them out as it pounced towards Klou. Barely raising his shield in time, Klou’s body shuddered, his legs quivering as two enormous paws raked across his shield, the sound of shearing metal filling the air.

Immediately, Onder and Geski rushed forward to support their boss, Onder’s twinblades and Geski’s greatsword reflecting the gemlight as they hacked at the enormous beast targeting their boss.

“Hiiiyap!” With a grunt of exertion, Klou forced the shadow to back off, his companions’ blades biting air as it deftly retreated in the face of their strikes.

Finally still, Rowan could now make out the features of the boss. An enormous wolf, standing nearly six feet at the shoulder, its black fur was the colour of obsidian, absorbing the light from above as it stood in front of the party. Its knife-like fangs were bared as claws the size of daggers dug furrows into the grass below.

A direwolf. The word sprang to Rowan’s mind, an image of a page from a book that Kanna had shown him appearing in his memory. One of the premier bosses of brass-tier dungeons, the direwolf was a powerful beast whose power was capable of decimating entire parties. The Jackal Claws would have to approach this fight carefully, or risk destruction.

At this thought, Rowan backed up a few steps, sequestering himself in the shadow of the door. He’d already been ordered to stay out of the fight, no reason to start disobeying orders now.

“Onder, you take the left; Geski, the right,” Klou ordered. “I’ll take the front. Geneser, you support me; Lekaar, try and flank it.”

Quickly, the party leapt to their positions, fanning out as they slowly encircled the black direwolf, who pulled its lips back and snarled at the beastmen in front of it. Perhaps it hoped to appeal to their shared ancestry, Rowan mused.

It did not work, and with a shout, Klou made the first move, his blade slicing the whiskers from the wolf’s snout as Onder and Geski moved in to pressure it from the sides. With a growl, the wolf stepped back, whirling to attack Onder who raised his twinblades in an X shape to intercept the bite.

Geski drew first blood, his greatsword cleaving into the flesh of the wolf’s left thigh, eliciting a yelp from the beast. At the front, Klou made to inflict a wound of his own, but was instead sent flying by a sudden lurch to the side by the direwolf, its enormous body slamming heavily into the unprepared vanguard.

Bowling into Geneser, who barely turned his spear aside in time, both vanguard and healer were taken down, leaving the beast free to turn its attention to the two slayers at its sides. In the distance, Rowan could see Lekaar creeping around, getting into position for a sneak attack. But he was not close enough to help out his comrades, nor could Rowan imagine him wanting to do so with how they treated him.

Regardless, it was now the two slayers who were forced onto the defensive, their weapons held in front of them as they bounced lightly on the balls of their feet. It was Geski that was chosen as the lucky defender, and his greatsword became a shield, fending off the wolf’s questing paws as it swiped at the one who had injured it. Seeing his opportunity to go on the offensive, Onder’s eyes lit up, his swords moving into an attack position as he crept closer to the wolf.

Rowan blinked, a sudden feeling of unease rising in the back of his mind. Both Geneser and Klou were scrambling to their feet, ready to rejoin the battle as Geski kept the direwolf busy, and Onder and Lekaar were also in position to get some devastating attacks off. So why did he feel so uneasy?

Scanning the battlefield, Rowan’s eyes flitted over the tallgrass behind Onder, rustling slightly in the wind as the jackalman prepared to attack. About to move on, Rowan’s eyes suddenly widened. They were underground, there was no wind, not even in this magical place.

Eyes trained on the patch of grass, Rowan watched in horror as a shadow emerged from the grass, its footsteps so light that it appeared to be soaring as it approached Onder with two palms outstretched...