Morning eventually came around. Or I assume it did, for there was no daylight to announce its arrival, no birdsong to lull me from my dreams of being torn apart by hungry mobs: only the antagonistic pair of NPC guards who arrived to lead me back to my cell. Despite their aggressive demeanor, I welcomed freedom they brought me from the solitude of ‘the hole.’ My prison-within-a-prison had granted me time to process recent events, but I was still no closer to getting my head around Siriso’s secret ‘quest.’

Kill the Dungeon Warden? Fuck!

What possible reason could Siriso have for wanting the Dungeon Warden dead? Weren’t they both sub-programs built into the same larger piece of software? Why would one be so keen to delete the other? Oh, and of much greater concern to me personally: what chance in hell did a recently-spawned swords-noob stand against the dungeon’s most powerful resident? Was this, I wondered to myself, the real reason as to why Siriso had been so generous when dishing out the base points and the gold, back when I was originally sentenced? Did he honestly think I stood a chance against the master of the dungeon? It was true that I had acquired an assassin’s dagger, but my skill lay in swordsmanship, not sneaky kills from the shadows. More than ever, I really needed a sword.

To make a bad quest infinitely worse, the time limit was insane. Thirty days. What the hell was Siriso thinking? His files must be corrupted if he somehow believes that I’ll be able to level up enough in a month to challenge that little bastard, let alone to kill him.

And then there was the penalty for failure: unlike the other quests I’d accepted so far, this one had come with an unwelcome clause: forfeit. Specifically, my deletion. I didn’t doubt the goblinoid’s ability to make good on the threat, either. The pompous priest had flaunted his ability to erase my very essence, back when I was at the mercy of his courtroom. I doubted the powerful program would have any problem reclaiming me into his clutches. Hell, the weary warden would probably gift-wrap me and send me on my way, if his disdain for my kind was any indication.

I could always go to the warden willingly, warn him of the enemy in his midst, a barter for protection of my own. But the hidden quest had been expertly slipped past the Dungeon Warden’s attention, as had I, the assassin. What was to stop Siriso issuing another such quest, this time with me as its target. There would be no shortage of prospective assassins passing through the goblin’s court, and no guarantee that the weary warden could protect me from them, even if he wanted to. Hell, the list of prisoners who’d like nothing better than to zero me out was growing at an alarming rate already. The Brotherhood wanted me dead. My half-orc ‘ally’ had dropped a level thanks to my duel, and would be more likely to return the favor than to assist me again. There were no two ways about it: I was screwed.

Flanked (and occasionally, shoved) by NPC guards, I made my way down the corridor leading to my wing, our footsteps the only sound that could be heard, besides the occasional snore, prayer or threat from the occupants of the cells as we passed them by. As my cell drew closer, I continued to mull everything over. I knew couldn’t tell anyone about my impossible quest, that had been a strict condition from the start. And to be perfectly honest, I didn’t trust Samusk to help me anyway. The little bastard had left me in the lurch during the duel, his latest act of cowardice in a steadily growing list. The dwarf would probably drop me like a bad habit if he knew of the sword that was now hanging over me. Still, not being able to tell the others what I was up to, didn’t mean that I couldn’t manipulate them to help me indirectly. The dwarf’s eyes had now become more important to me than ever. And the training session with NoobCrusher, even more so.

Samusk was lying awake on his bunk when I finally reached our cell. There were many questions I needed to ask him, chiefly where the fuck did you get to, you little shit? So that was exactly what I began with.

Samusk protested my accusations of cowardice, maintaining that he had rushed back to secure the cell door, to protect my respawn point. Whether this was true, or just a convenient cover for his cowardice, couldn’t tell. But with my current deadline, I needed him more than ever, so I let it drop. For now.

Looking relieved, Samusk began to question me about my vacation in the hole. I kept all information pertaining to the Dungeon Warden to myself, just as I’d originally planned. Admittedly, a small part of me took satisfaction from having knowledge that the dwarf didn’t, immature as it was. Once his questions were finally answered (sort of), I asked the dwarf a few more of my own.

“I’ve been wondering something,” I began. “The first time I defended you… you know, back when we spawned around the fire, my reputation increased. But in the canteen, I rushed to your aid and it made no difference whatsoever to my rep stat. Why is the system so inconsistent?”

“There’s a pattern, all right,” the dwarf began, punctuating the statement with a yawn and a stretch before adding: “Yer just too wet behind the ears to see it, is all.”

“Please enlighten me, oh wise one,” I sarcastically replied, adding a mock bow for effect.

“Law of depreciatin’ returns,” he declared, sitting upright in his bunk and turning to face me. “The first time yeh level up through any action is always the easiest. But as ye continue to increase yer stats, it’s like climbin’ a hill that gradually gets steeper. Ye can’t jus’ keep committin’ the same actions over and over, expectin’ the same results. It’s like workin’ a muscle with increasin’ weights. Ye need to keep increasin’ the difficulty if ye want to make more progress.”

“So instead of saving one dwarf, I need to save seven?” I teased.

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. But yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

And while we’re on the subject of saving you…

“You know, regardless of what it does for my rep, I am having to leap to your defense with alarming frequency. If you’re going to attract so much trouble, we really could do with prioritizing that sword you were supposed to be finding me. You know, so I have something decent to defend you with.”

And to hunt with. Oh, and preferably something big enough to skewer a Dungeon Warden…

Although oblivious to my dodgy Dungeon Warden skewering intentions, Samusk agreed, promising me that he would ask around to help me procure a weapon worthy of my skillset. I smiled, satisfied that I was finally learning how to manipulate the sneaky little git.

“I fact, I might jus’ have a lead that can help us with that,” he continued. “I managed to find out more about that gang leader, Kronan.”

“Seriously?” I replied, stifling a laugh. “Kronan the Barbarian?”

“Yeah, the names a bit shit,” the dwarf replied, albeit in a whisper. “Chose it in a panic an’ then got saddled with it, I’d imagine. But his rep sure as hell ain’t. I’ve been tryin’ to find out why his reputation is so much higher than everyone else’s around here.”

“And?” I asked, wondering what all this had to do with the soon-to-be-acquired mythical blade that I’d already named ‘WardenSlayer.’ (Okay, not so much ‘mythical’ as ‘imaginary’, at least at this stage. But I could dream, right? Incidentally, the impressive blade also came a special attachment for skinning cowardly dwarves…)

“Well, fer a start, his gang makes a point of lookin’ out fer the weakest players. An’ that could seriously help with our hunt fer yer new sword.”

“I still don’t understand the connection,” I admitted.

“Think, lad. His organization’s comprised chiefly of high-level raid parties, so they’re constantly discoverin’ caches of items an’ weapons as they push forward to unlock new areas of the dungeon. They keep the best stuff for themselves, obviously, but that leaves them with plenty of hand-me-downs to sell to the newer, less experienced warriors. An’ Kronan, bein’ the fine upstandin’ member of the prison community that he is, forces his resellers to give the weaker players a discount.”

“Purely for the sake of his reputation, I’m sure… but either way, it sounds like a policy we could take advantage of.”

“Indeed it does, lad. So, first chance I get, I’m goin’ to bend the ear of one of his dealers, see if I can get ye somethin’ comparable with the sword ye lost, or slightly better.”

“Only slightly better?” I protested. “I thought you were supposed to be the richest dwarf in the dungeon.”

“Ssssh. Keep your voice down, yeh bloody idiot. We have to play this smart. A noob wandering around the place with a heroic-level weapon wouldn’t last long down here. It would be like hangin’ a ‘mug me’ sign around yer neck fer all to see. And I think yeh’ve gained more than enough experience in that department, already. No, I’m thinkin’ that we get you somethin’ affordable, but out of the ordinary. Like a barbarian-class blade, fer example. They hold more mana, an’ one of the few benefits of yer shitty base-point allocation is that ye can wield heavier weapons than the average swords-noob. I intend to take full advantage of that, without pickin’ anything that might raise too many eyebrows.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. “Let’s go find us a weapon merchant.”

“Whoa there, what do ye think this is, a holiday camp? We have work to do?”

“If you expect me to go mob-slaying, then that’s all the more reason to-”

“Forget bloody swords fer a minute, lad. I’m talkin’ building work. While you were sittin’ around starin’ at the walls, I got us both a job.”

“You signed me up to a construction crew without consulting me first?” I snapped. I was angry: the dwarf was my employer, but that didn’t mean he owned me.

“Consult ye how, exactly? Crystal ball? One of them wee holograms from Star Wars? Yeh were in fuckin’ solitary. When I learned ye were stuck there, I decided to go make myself useful, find us a way to earn.

“I don’t see why we need to waste time on things like that. What’s the point in your having gold if you refuse to spend it?”

“Because we’re workin’ fer Kronan, an’ anythin’ that gets us closer to him is worth the effort. Ye should be thankin’ me fer this opportunity, ye impudent prick.”

“Why building?” I asked, conceding to his logic, but unable to bring myself to apologize. “And what does that have to do with Kronan’s gang?”

“Kronan makes a point of only allowing powerful fighters to join his gang. Every member is at least level 3. As we’ve established, they’re a gang of high-level players who constantly push forward, clearing out the monsters in the unexplored dungeons. But he can’t afford to waste the skills of powerful fighters capitalizing on those gains. That’s why he hires folks like us. Our job will be the noob work, clearin’ out the recently-conquered dungeons, buildin’ new accommodation that he’ll eventually sell back to the Dungeon Keeper as an additional wing of the prison.

“Dungeon Warden” I corrected.

“Eh?”

“Never mind. So, what you’re saying is, he raises his reputation by finding work for the weaker prisoners. And in return, he gets a pack of noobs who’ll do the donkey-work that would have lowered his gang’s monster-slaying productivity…”

“…freeing up his men to push on and increase his gang’s rep by slaying stronger and stronger monsters, all at a rate no other gang can hope to match.”

“Sounds like a smart system,” I admitted

“And one we can turn to our advantage. Buildin’ is a job with a high noob turnover, so there’s always room fer another name on the list. As to why it suits yeh, luggin’ granite bricks around takes strength. Somethin’ ye seem to have an abundance of, despite yer level. An’ it doesn’t hurt to get you on the gang’s radar fer somethin’ other than getting’ yer ass publicly kicked.”

“And what will you be doing while I’m lugging around big heavy slabs of stone?” I asked, accusingly. Because ‘worker’ or not, the dwarf wasn’t exactly a powerhouse.

“Basic haulage” he replied. “Yeh’ll see when we get there.”

A bell sounded, announcing the official start of the day. With that, we left our cell. As we made our way through the corridors, I was relieved to see that the Brotherhood were giving me dirty looks, but little else. Perhaps they were afraid of me, I dared consider. Of course, they could just be saving me for Tiny, reluctant to bloody the chief ingredient in his cells fancy new noob-skin rug.

I put that worrying thought out of my mind when we finally reached the canteen. What I needed more than anything, was breakfast. A night in the hole had left me famished, and even the grey slop was better than nothing. Perhaps I could even convince myself it was porridge, if I pinched my nose tightly enough. Then I realized that the doors were closed, their unwelcoming status punctuated by a heavy length of chain. My heart sank even further as the dwarf led me straight past them.

“Um, Samusk? Where are we going, exactly?”

“There’s a tunnel nearby that leads to the front line,” he replied. “Only appeared yesterday, apparently.”

“The what?” I spluttered, immediately flashing back to my previous stint on the front line (followed by my brief stint lining the stomach of the boss contained within). You do remember the whole ‘I don’t have a sword’ conversation from a few moments ago, right?”

“Relax, lad. We’ll be stoppin’ when we reach what was the front line, a day ago. The fight has moved on since yesterday. We’re headed into the lair if a defeated boss.”

I gave the dwarf a puzzled look. He sighed and continued to explain.

“Boss lairs are more valuable than any loot, lad. They make perfect real estate for prison expansion, ye can fit a whole wing in one, apparently. Once the former tenant’s been evicted, that is.”

Instinctively I called up my inventory, equipping both my basic dagger and its harness. I chose not to tell the dwarf about the much higher-quality assassin’s dagger I’d gained in the fight yesterday: I wanted to keep him motivated to find me a sword, after all. But ill-suited to my skillset or not, I felt all the better for having it in my possession. If the territory I was headed into had once contained mobs, who was to say there wouldn’t be stragglers? It was good to have a way to defend myself again. And with that thought, another came to me: the closer I was to the front line, surely the better chance I had of hunting mob meat. This could be my best opportunity to satisfy NoobSlayer’s quest and finally get my training.

Samusk led me into an unfamiliar corridor, continuing to witter on about Kronan and his operation as he did so. I didn’t much care for the details, only the small matter of breakfast: surely the wonderful warrior fed his workers, right? After a night in the hole, my stomach was growling. But to my horror, it wasn’t the only one…

We turned a corner to find ourselves face to face with the very thing that had haunted my dreams the night before. A jet-black grinning monstrosity, like a horse with the legs of a spider and the tail of a scorpion, its mouth stretched so far across its elongated face that it could probably swallow Samusk whole, if it really wanted to.

Despite my secret desire to test that theory, I ordered the dwarf to run. As he did so, my hand went instinctively to my inventory, summoning the assassin’s blade. I held the weapon at arm’s length, daring the beast to even think of attacking. The hulking black beast in turn took a moment to study my blade, then let out an unholy shriek, its familiar rows of needle-like teeth putting my own merger weapon to shame.

It was a shadow foal. And maybe it was breakfast time, after all.