A young soldier was grabbing for breath while leaning on his unsheathed sword.

"Alive, boy?" A rough voice asked.

“Yes... sir..."

Sweat droplets poured down the boy's face, cling blond strands of hair to his skin. The boy licked his lips, just to taste their saltiness. He was alive, yes.

Commander Crewe clapped Saldon on the shoulder. "Good. Now stop huffing like a whore in heat and stand straighter."

That earned snickers from the other men.

There was a saying, that among the death and despair only those with strong willpower and ability to joke, stayed sane, while others just masked their madness behind stern faces. Based on this scale, Saldon bet that the Commanders Crewer’s crew was one of the sanest of them all.

The young soldier blushed. “Yes, sir!" And with heaving breaths, straightened.

He hated showing weakness, but at the same time, couldn’t help it. They had just run (it seemed hours) for their lives after stumbling into an army of walking black armor suits – each of whom had been three meters tall, one and a half wide and one whole ton deadly. Thankfully, those metal monstrosities hadn’t noticed them (too busy slaughtering local wildlife) and his group got away without casualties.

These lucky bastards consisted of five light armor wearing men. Saldon was the youngest, followed by green-eyed redhead Favian (in his early twenties?) and then two muskets wielding brothers with brown hair and eyes (whom names Saldon had forgotten, ups..). Last was their leader and commander, a minor Lord and the oldest of the men (maybe in his sixties?) with salt paper hair, Crewer.

"Shouldn’t we worry about thous black armor suits? They could march out and attack the settlement!" After sniggering had died down, one of the musket brothers dared to ask.

"Nae danger. Ye saw ‘em! No way wee could do anything other than rin ur die. What were ‘ey?" Other brother answered. He had the ticker northerner accent than the other one.

"Servants of Queen of the Damned," Commander muttered in thought and then said louder. “Whatever she’s up to, for now, it doesn’t concern us. We have our orders."

Although, he didn’t look pleased about it. Given the choice, Crewer probably would wish to return and warn the settlement. But that undoubtedly would fail their quest.

"Besides, her royal highness is on the upper level," Favian snorted, waving off the idea with his palm. “Only the mad and the stupid venture up there."

That seemed sober up some dreams of heroism. Taking on a floor boss was madness. Out of 27 known ones, nine to this day still roamed their domains, undefeated – Queen of the Damned being one of them. Even those in past with the title of the hero were no match. They would need an army of fine men to even glimpse their own insignificance.

"An’ they seemed uninterested in us. Let nae stretch our luck and paint a bulls-eye on uir backs."

"Reit.…"

Collective tiredness overcame them – a relief of being alive.

They didn’t show it so banally as Saldon, but if one had been with them for an extended time, they would notice hints, more slouchy shoulders and vacant stares, less of jokes and story times. They still were flesh and blood, mortals with mortal needs. All of their bodies ached. Every muscle and joint, sore from running in an armor, heated up to boiling point, now remained about their existence and abuse. These men needed a moment of rest.

Saldon could only imagine how bad it was for his Commander and Favian. They both had hauberks (chain-mail armor) over their gambesons (padded jacket) while the rest had brigandines (padded jacket lined with small oblong steel plates riveted to the fabric). Saldon had only a simple gambeson (now drenched in sweat) that he sewed himself and it already seemed to weight a ton when he had to run in it.

“Didn’t we have another boy?”

That woke Saldon from his drowsiness. Blinking, he mentally counted everyone and realized they indeed were one short - the peasant boy from a nearby town. He was hired for the simple task of carrying their food, sleeping bags, any extra equipment that had been brought along. Saldon hadn’t paid much attention to him up until now.

“When was the last anyone saw him?” Favian asked and silence greeted his question.

“Shit!” Commander stamped his foot and turned to way from which they ran. “Boy, if you hear me, say anything, scream if you must and we’ll come to get you!”

Silence.

Saldon felt sick.

– Boy? What was even his name? Had any of them even asked? Was this the reason why I too am just a Boy?

They hadn’t noticed peasant boy lag behind. One moment he was there and the next there was … nothing. Had he screamed or plead for help? Will they find a splat of blood if they go back?

The young soldier could only pray, that his death was painless and hope that the same fate didn’t await him now that he was the weakest link in the group. But that might be the least of his worries. With the peasant boy, they lost all their rations. If they aren’t lucky enough to meet up with one of the other groups, they might need to resort to drastic measures, like eating monster meat or roots, both looked down upon by people, considered corrupt and sinful in The True Voice eyes.

All this suffering and pain amounted in a few silver coins. That was a life of a sellsword – his new life.

“Do we go back or...”

“... No. Had he been trained, then yes, but as he was, no way his still alive. If he isn’t here, he isn’t in this world anymore.”

A bitter thought that everyone had already concluded on their own expat for Saldon.

After a moment of silence, “May he rejoin the cycle and find a new place to call home. Let his next life be long.” A quite pray to the boy whose name nobody knows.

After a moment of silence, finally “Rest up boys, in ten paces we move.” Commander gave an order everyone was more than willing to obey.

That is, everyone except Saldon. He just stood there and stared while others found their place, sat and either tended their gear or quenched their thirst from brought along water-skins. Watching, the boy yearned to join them, really, to pluck his ass down on the cool ground and to feel the pressure on feet subside, to feel the cool water in his throat, to move on as easily as they did, but he couldn’t make is knees bend. To take his mind off. Saldon felt if he was to do it, the young soldier not only wouldn’t be able to find the strength to pick himself up but also he would let down his team. It's wrong and harmful to deny oneself rest, that Saldon knows, but doing his job seemed more important. They had diverged from their original path. It was his job to put them back on track. Thinking about it was far better than the alternative… delving on what had happened… and how easily it was accepted.

“I’ll go explore a bit.”

“Boy?” Commander gave the face – are you serious?

“I’ll stay in sight!”

“You better do or I...”

“Yes, sir! I will!”

Saldon just wanted to be left alone for a bit.

Little farther a nearby wall had caught his attention. Something seemed to be written on it. Travelers often scratched guiding sighs to help those that got lost. It could be a symbol comprehensible only by those that had the right type of map or arrows pointing this or that way. Other times there were sentences: “Up ahead a monster lair”; “West side of Bone road.”; “All that past this point are doomed!!!” or the classic “Bart the Bard was here ; )”.

But as he came close to shine some light from his lantern, the boy was surprised to find disturbingly beautiful works of art. Someone (dungeon?) had carved into the stone vivid images of an unknown culture. Side views of people, men and women – at work, war and love. Scenarios of buzzing villages, lively markets, peasants tended rich crop fields, warriors on bloody battlefields.

They were humans (no horns, tails or pointy ears) and yet… so different from folk here. It seemed like people in the picture know nothing of winters hardship. Their clothes were simple and flimsy. Many were naked or dressed in a piece of sheet that still reviled way too much for modesty of people that lived here. And yet they were happy and far from poor. Drinking something that most likely was alcohol. Indulging in meat, cheese, and grapes. Dancing and having sex.

… and no monsters or dungeons…

All this carved and then painted in once vibrant colors of red, yellow and black, now faded to more subdued tone, that still grabbed at one's breath in amazement. Nothing like before with dungeon walls bare, hollow halls devoid of artist's heart. Only adornment – cuts and splashes of blood from countless battles that had taken place here.

It was like this place showed glimpses of the past. What it was like when dungeons hadn’t yet gone mad. When they were more than factories for monsters and had personalities. And this one was so…

“– Greek.”

“Saldon?”

With a startle, Favians voice brought the boy out of his reverie.

Shame bloomed in the young one's chest. He had lost himself and all, what's around. Any other time he could have ended up with jaws around his neck just like the other boy.

“Sir, I ~!” He was about to apologize, but stopped upon seeing his superior's face.

Favian gazed over the same scenes Saldon had, and yet, almost looked as if seeing something else – something ugly.

“Sir?”

“… Get ready and… Don’t look too closely at those scratches. Some say people go mad by starin’ too long. Besides…” He turned away from the images with his expression going back to usual playful one and smirked at the Saldon. “Our whores are prettier than those old hags there.”

Redhead winked, making Saldon blush from the implement that he had looked only for the pictures of the naked women. It wasn’t true – of course... He just didn’t shy away from looking at them.

“I’ll buy you one if we return.” Favian had said, passing by a few ladies of the night before they had departed to the dungeon.

“Please, don’t – sir.”

“Oh, are boys more your thing then – eh?”

“Sir!!”

Redheads teasing had helped with fitting in. Saldon story was that he had just left his military training and joined in his first group sell-swords lead by an impoverished lord, Commander Crewer. This also was supposed to be his very first time in a dungeon. And many things can go terribly wrong. But Favian always seemed to keep an eye out for Saldon. The boy hoped to one day repay the favor.

“Lift ‘our arses, breaks over! Boy, find something?” Commander asked.

“...no, sir.”

“Right… then next crossroad awaits, move!”

And so they did. Each guarded their side, peering into the smallest corner or a hole in the ground. Listened to the smallest hint that they weren’t alone. One couldn’t be too careful in a dungeon. A wall may just disappear and let a monster, on the other side, wave hello.

That might have been how they lost their carrier – the peasant boy.

Sometime later they stopped at crossroads. Now two ways awaited their choice, where their shadows split and stretched past their indecision, taunting with possibilities. Right way looked like most of the tunnels they had passed through, but the left had an archway of human skulls, put there by God only knows who and why

Wrinkling his brow, Saldon consulted with his map, turning it this and that way, trying to comprehend their location. One wrong turn while fleeing for their lives could have doomed them anyway. Until now they had steadily moved forward. A cross marked the destination where should be the last resting place of some noble's son (only his servant got back). They have been tasked retrieving his remains. His loving family probably found out that one of their priceless heirlooms was missing, and the dead fool might have taken it with him in the grave.

Saldon guessed, that most likely happened ten years ago when the last monster genocide happened. Every ten years king summoned his vessels to order them to gather armies of men and march to the entrance of the dungeon. It was the only time one could enter dungeons somewhat safely through the hole. Most of the monsters are lured by bait far from here. They are killed in masses to prevent any hordes from forming as it had happened in the past in neighboring kingdoms. If not for this job, his group would been hired to assist in extermination like most sell-swords at this time were.

Waiting for Saldon, everyone's else leered closer by the second, looming over his shoulder. He could feel their stuffy hot breath getting unbearable on his neck.

With a resigned sigh, Saldon activated his skill.

“...[Map]!”

One word suddenly nailed everyone to silence. The commander didn’t even need to lift his hand. Nobody would dare to detract the boy from doing his job. They’ll patiently wait, holding their breaths.

Saldon just had ten seconds to work with. Translucent outline of labyrinths many paths obscured the boy's vision. Quickly he worked, relining them with the twenty-first-floor map in his hands. He needed to find the correct placement of this new puzzle piece, that was just 50 meters radius all around him. Sometimes all it was a slight difference in angles. Luckily, nearby walls were thinner and he had more lines. And it helped that there was a note on the map – “archway of human skulls, don’t go there”.

“We all are skilled in swordplay, but not all of us can read the map like you do. Young eyes are the best.” Crewer had said when he told Saldons role in the group.

The boy wasn’t born out of a cows dung yesterday. He knows that’s the greenhorn's job since most could use skill [Map] at least one time a day (he could five times). Others just didn’t yet trust the young fighters ability to hold his own in a real fight. Furthermore, since his hands always were occupied with the map and lantern, Saldon hadn't yet had a chance to prove otherwise or gained said experience. In short – he was stuck with this job and at best, he’ll get a promotion when the next new upstart joins their merry group.

Heroes, on the other hand, could keep this skill active at all times, promoting the old saying, heroes never lose their way.

“We are...” Saldon finally broke the silence and answered the unsaid question that had plagued their mind. “..here. We haven’t diverged much from the original path – here.” He pointed in the map to the place where they would have been if not for the little fright for their lives.

There flee from the dark knights had tossed them off a bit, but this was preferable from getting lost. If he didn’t have a clue, where they could be, he might not get enough time to reline their location with the all the maps they had for all the floors. Hell, they might have gotten off the beaten path and discovered all new parts of the dungeon. Great experience up until you can’t get back and starve to death.

“We’ll have to now take this path – here.”

“Given time?”

Here’s the dreadful question. How long it’ll take them to finally get there? His skill [Map] could give a vague idea where you wanted to go, but it was up to the user to give it words.

Maybe…“… half a day or less.”

“Good.”

They went through the archway of skulls and kept a slow jogging pace.

“Eh… my nose keeps tingling.” Favian broke the monotonousness silence of footsteps and heavy breathing.

For a second, Saldon though he’s being pampered nobles fifth son again, then the young soldier remembered about scouts passive skill – [Detect eyes]. As Saldon know, a nose or any other specific area would start to ache if someone was watching/hunting them. Handy, if you’re in a dungeon where practically everything was about to eat you. Not so in cities or other populated places.

“[Perceive!]” Favian whispered to activate another skill.

Saldon watched as redhead's eyes darted around and nostrils flare air in and out. One could almost see how his senses – hearing, eyesight and even smell, had sharpened for exactly ten seconds.

“You know, I’m a prodigy,” Favian wasn’t shy to brag whenever they took a break.

That’s how Saldon knows Favians age, at 21 he was these generations youngest (none hero) scout to have his [Perceive] skill already at [Apprentice] level.

And yet, it wasn’t enough. He made no motion of catching a glimpse of their tag along. He repeated this action couple of times, again and again chanting the activation skill until Saldon couldn’t take it anymore.

“Maybe it’s the lost boy?”

Sadly, Favian shook his head and crushed last of Saldons hope, if there was any left.

“Humans have… a different feeling from the one right now. Sorry, but it’s not him...”

“Great, then stop chantin’ ‘ur [Perceive] and ignore it, u giving us a headache!” Brashest of brother barked.

“If it hadn’t attacked us yet, it can peep for all A care." And the other added.

“Uh, you two aren’t the ones with an itchy nose and a sword in one hand and a shield in the other one. Soon I’ll either cut it off or bash it in!” Favian let out his frustration by taking a swing at the empty air behind “That thing been tracking us ever since our run-in with those metal heads. That's how long is this itch!" He glared over his shoulder, but only shadows stared back.

“It’s probably some bottom feeder.” A monster or an animal that didn’t pose any threat to an uninjured wanderer. “Anyway, most monsters would be down to the south, where all the killing happening.”

If you excluded the black armors monsters, then they had met only a handful of weak monsters. With a map, they avoided known monsters territories (like the Queen of the Damned) and all the wandering monsters that didn’t have one place as a lair had all gone to the south.

“How far?” Commander asked.

Favian frowned, still looking over his shoulder. “Twelve to twenty meters and keeping pace with us."

"Not you and your stalking friend. I meant our destination."

"One, two..." Sadon stopped to measure the distance on the map with his fingers and did the math in his head to guess approximately. “Another turn left and two staircases up. If we don’t stumble in a twisted turn or cave in’s, we'll be by the next crossroad in fifteen minutes!"

"Good," Commander nodded, adjusting his helmet, “let's increase our pace. We’ll rest at the –"

"Monster ahead!"

Everyone stopped.

There, just outside the ring of light, a black shape moved with a screech of metal on stone.

"[Order] Form d – !"

"[Perceive!] – Shit, it’s one of bitches servants." Favian interrupted to warned the Commander, lifting his shield higher.

"Split!" Crewer quickly changes his order.

Magic took hold and without a delay, everyone spread out. That thing with its reach could have wiped them all out in one swipe!

One of the brothers unhooked his lantern from the belt and tossed it at the black shape. Glass broke and with a splash, oily substance spilled over the metallic body, at the same moment, ignited by the flame. Dungeons hallway grow brighter. Backing away shadows hissed, relieving a mess of a black armor further ahead and something more, that quickly dispersed.

“Are those... –”

First one lunged out of the darkness, flashing its toothy mouth to meet Favians hand.

“– Scavengers?!”

The attacked man yelled and tried to shake it off, almost losing his footing in the process. Sharp teeth screeched against the hard metal and then the creature made a disappointed squeak before letting go.

It fell back among its brethren.

Standing just under one meter tall, this little monster looked like fluffy bipedal lizards. Summoned heroes sometimes called them dinosaurs or baby Raptors. They were scavengers of the dungeons. Lured by blood they cleaned up scraps after battles. Scavengers were more animals the monsters and usually shied away from conflict, but as more and more gleaming eyes revealed themselves from the gloaming unknown, this was bound to be an exception.

Emitted squeaking and clicking sounds, they communicated among themselves and seemed to almost urge each other as humans would.

«’U first. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)» It nudged the one next to it.

«Noo, ‘U go. (╯°ロ°）╯» It squealed back.

«No, ‘U! (ΘεΘ; )»

«Uuu! (≧ロ≧)»

«U! ( ಠ_ಠ) »

« Noo! ε=ε=ε=┌( ´Д`) ﾉ)

One of the bigger ones nipped them both.«Enough, one of u pussies go, before me bite off ‘ur tails! (ಠ益ಠ) !»

« Aye!ヽ( X`皿X)ﾉ !»

More than a dozen little creatures let out a high pitch screech and attacked.