About an hour later, the Half-Brothers finally brought down the boss monster. The exit irised open before them.

  They were bloodied and battered, several pieces of gear broken beyond repair. But they had won.

  Another dungeon level conquered.

  Rhea had nearly forgotten about the flesh-golem girl when a second chest rose from the ground beside the one holding the expected loot. The dungeon was well documented. Loot tables existed. They knew exactly what they were supposed to find.

  That second chest had never appeared in any of the information packages.

  It was forged from white metal, smooth and unadorned. The group gathered around it. Rhea stepped forward and laid a hand on the lid. No traps. No tricks. The chest opened without resistance.

  Inside lay a gleaming warhammer, perfectly sized for her half-giant hands. Three jewels of respectable size were set into the haft, marking it as enchanted. Three enchantments, perhaps fewer, woven together in a way that would take time to fully unravel.

  A simple inspection revealed the weapon’s name, engraved along the side of the hammer’s head.

  “Mercy.”

  Rhea gave it an experimental swing. The hammer hummed through the air, producing a deep, resonant drone that thrummed in her bones.

  She turned toward the dungeon and offered an exaggerated bow. “Well played, dungeon. Well played.”

  * * *

  The next evening, the Half-Brothers celebrated their conquest of the fourth dungeon level in the tavern. Healing spells had restored their bodies, hot baths had scrubbed away blood and grime, and fresh clothes clung to them, still faintly scented with soap.

  The innkeeper set down the last round of ale. Rhea tipped him generously, then asked casually, “Say, have you heard any rumors about a new monster in the dungeon? Something like a woman with stitched-together skin and hair of different colors?”

  The innkeeper smiled. “A flesh-golem? Spooky, but in a sexy way? Aye, I’ve heard. But she’s no monster. She’s a delver.”

  Rhea nearly spat out her ale. “What?”

  “Didn’t anyone tell you?” He blinked. “All delvers were supposed to be informed. To avoid misunderstandings. She’s the creation of a famous archmage, or so the story goes. Sent a messenger ahead of her and everything. Seems folks mistook her for a monster before, and things got… unpleasant.”

  His gaze sharpened as he studied Rhea’s face. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

  He read the answer without another word. His hand went to his heart. “Gods. I heard he threatened to turn our entire village into a bone-golem if anyone so much as blinked too fast in her presence.”

  The other Half-Brothers froze, mugs suspended halfway to their lips.

  The innkeeper held the moment for a few heartbeats, then burst out laughing. The sound boomed through the tavern, shaking his shoulders and echoing off the rafters. Other patrons joined in, having followed the exchange closely. He clapped Rhea on the back hard enough to jostle her mug. “Sorry. You should’ve seen your face.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “The girl’s fine. Came back last night. Said she’d stumbled into some strange quest where she had to fight other delvers. Took a real beating, by the look of it. Her clothes looked like two people had been beaten to death in them, one after the other. Her friend burned through his entire mana pool on cleaning and mending spells while she was bathing.”

  Laughter rolled through the tavern like a returning tide. Mugs clinked. Voices rose. The tension drained away.

  Rhea forced a chuckle. It sounded stiff, like metal tapping stone. “Well,” she said at last, lifting her mug, “that’s… comforting.”

  One of the Half-Brothers snorted. “Comforting that we didn’t accidentally doom a village?”

  “Comforting that we didn’t doom ourselves,” Rhea shot back. “I don’t fancy being part of an archmage’s arts-and-crafts project.”

  The innkeeper grinned and drifted off to another table, leaving them alone with their drinks and their thoughts.

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  As if summoned by the silence, the tavern door opened.

  The flesh-golem stood in the doorway. Her hair was still damp, dark strands clinging to her cheeks, lighter streaks catching the firelight. Beside her stood a young adventurer who radiated unmistakable rogue vibes, his hand drifting toward his knife as he sensed the shift in the room.

  Rhea rose to her full height. Her chair scraped loudly across the floor, the sound slicing through the tavern like a dropped plate.

  The flesh-golem stiffened.

  Rhea raised both hands, palms open, her hammer conspicuously absent. Her voice carried easily, steady and calm. “Hey. Don’t worry. We’re all friends here.”

  The girl relaxed, just a fraction.

  Rhea swallowed, then gave a short, awkward bow. “I owe you an apology. Seems our missions put us at odds. No reason to hold a grudge over it.”

  The flesh-golem studied her, head tilting slightly, mismatched skin catching the light in subtle variations of tone. Then she eased, and her companion let his hand fall away from his knife.

  “I don’t mind keeping the peace,” she said at last. “You hit really hard.”

  Rhea winced, but nodded.

  A corner of the girl’s mouth twitched into a smile as she stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her. Gradually, the tavern’s noise returned. Curiosity gave way to stories, laughter, and drink.

  Rhea gestured toward their table. “Care to join us? First round’s on me. Second too, if it helps smooth over the attempted murder.”

  The girl considered, then nodded once. “All right. I’m called Stitch.”

  The young man joined them and introduced himself as Weylan. Rhea felt a faint tug of recognition she couldn’t quite place, like a memory just out of reach. When she asked him directly after introducing herself and her team, he only smiled and claimed he had seen them once in Mulnirsheim.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Gronk gestured to the innkeeper for another round.

  Bambam nudged Weylan with an elbow. “So, what’d you do today? Back into the dungeon? And on which side?”

  Weylan shrugged. “Just the first floor. Stitch needed to learn mining, and learning in a dungeon goes much faster. Especially a mining-themed one. Took her about seven hours to unlock the skill.” He paused, then turned to her. “Did you already choose your class?”

  “Not yet,” Stitch said. “I wanted to be fully rested. Didn’t want to make any mistakes.”

  That earned her the table’s full attention. Furoras lifted his head from his ale. “You’re going to be a miner?”

  Stitch chuckled. “Nope. Monster Cracker.”

  The team exchanged glances. Gronk frowned thoughtfully. “I think I’ve seen that one on the list. Support class, right? Crafting-focused. Specialized in processing monsters?”

  She nodded. “That’s the one. Also helps with gathering plants, alchemical ingredients, and rare ores.”

  Rhea made an impatient shooing motion. “Well? Go on. Choose it.”

  Stitch stared into the distance, fingers twitching as she navigated unseen menus. As a construct, she could have always chosen a class, but she’d held off on the rare advice of her master, to get something she would be sure she wanted to spent the rest of her life doing.

  * * *

  Character class is available for selection. Plus 10 skill points for free distribution.

  Available character classes:

  Basic classes (always available):

  Laborer, Brawler, Thief, Craftsman (simple trades), Farmer

  Crafting classes unlocked through actions:

  Alchemist, Librarian, Seamstress, Leatherworker, Butcher, Herbalist

  Special classes unlocked through actions:

  Apothecary, Bonecarver, Fleshcarver, Monster Cracker*, Skirmisher

  Stitch stood still while the text scrolled past her vision. Her eyes lingered first on the basic classes, more out of obligation than interest, then she scrolled past.

  Her eyes lingered a moment on Librarian, but she had long decided she would not spend the rest of her life in a stuffy library. She loved books and reading, but the library would be open to her no matter what class she chose. It would always be part of her life, but it wouldn’t be her life.

  She scrolled on.

  The special classes made her fingers twitch.

  Apothecary had been unlocked long ago by her training herbalism while also reading up on alchemy, medicine and exotic ingredients. But that would have been exchanging a stuffy building with a smelly one. With less books.

  Bonecarver and Fleshcarver were classes she’d unlocked long ago by researching her own condition. These classes focused on biological materials, repair of living and unliving tissue, compatibility assessment, and adaptive grafting. Efficiency bonuses applied when working on constructs, undead, or hybrid entities.

  Both were meant to assist mages and necromancers building constructs and undead. They were interesting, but nothing she wanted to do for long. She planned to pick up their signature skills some time in the future to repair or even enhance herself.

  She scrolled further.

  The Monster Cracker class entry pulsed faintly, as if they had been waiting for her.

  The base Monster Cracker class granted anatomical knowledge of monsters and dungeon creatures, identification of weak points, efficient harvesting of monster materials, and bonuses to dismantling cores, glands, and specialized organs without destabilizing them. It also enhanced skills used to other related fields such as leatherworking, skinning, butchering, herb gathering and so on.

  She read every line twice.

  Then she noticed the asterisk behind the class’s name and concentrated on it. It seemed, she’d also unlocked several specializations of the class.

  Monster Cracker (Anatomical Specialist) emphasized precision. It granted advanced dissection techniques, structural mapping of unfamiliar monsters, and the ability to predict postmortem reactions. Ideal for rare specimens and intact harvesting of organs.

  Monster Cracker (Arcane Specialist) focused on magical creatures. It improved detection of lingering mana, safe extraction of enchanted organs, and resistance to backlash when handling unstable remains. It also had some overlaps with enchantment as it unlocked the active use of mana and granted a limited capacity to use enchantment magic.

  Monster Cracker (Surgical) was marked as experimental.

  This path blended monster processing with construct repair and enhancement. It allowed limited in-combat stabilization, emergency grafting, and post-battle restoration of yourself and even allies using harvested materials.

  Stitch clasped her hands together. The seams along her wrists tightened, then relaxed. That was tempting. But grafting monster parts on herself would truly make her into a monster and destroy any chance to enter society.

  Her gaze returned to the Monster Cracker (Arcane Specialist) variant and stayed there.

  She selected it.

  * * *

  After a moment, she smiled and nodded to herself. Her eyes flicked once more, then she refocused on the room.

  “Done.”

  Rhea clapped her on the back. “Well done. So, how about joining us on our next delve? I’d love to see what you can do. Maybe we should hire a monster cracker instead of making a hero do that work.”

  Weylan shook his head. “Sorry. We have to get back to the academy. We already stayed a day longer than planned. But if you’re interested, I do have a quest you might want. It’s tied to the Mulnirsheim region, so I can’t complete it myself.”

  A familiar red glow flared on his forehead as the questgiver symbol appeared. He reached into his bag and placed a drawing on the table. It depicted a coin from two sides. One bore the symbol of the Meklang dungeon: a spider carrying an anvil, enclosed within a gear. The other showed a stylized dungeon monster.

  Rhea leaned forward. “Hey, that’s the third level’s boss. That thing was crap. Didn’t seem to know what it was doing. Almost wandered off mid-fight.”

  Weylan’s eye twitched, but he kept his expression neutral as he brought up his quest menu and offered it to the group.

  Quest offered: “Stolen Memorial”

  A team of revenants has stolen a memorial coin they were not entitled to. The monsters of the Meklang dungeon are enraged and confused, causing increasingly unstable dungeon behavior.

  Objective:

  Find and return the memorial coin to the dungeon and leave it there.

  Reward:

  200 XP and 200 gold for each participant.

  Increased dungeon loot for all future delves in the Meklang dungeon.

  Penalty for failure:

  Dungeon inhabitants grow increasingly aggressive.

  Possible dungeon outbreak.

  Rhea opened her mouth, then closed it again, raising a hand to silence her team. She leaned in and whispered, “Dungeon outbreak? That’s bad. Really bad. This dungeon’s one of the most important ones around. There’s a waiting list a mile long.”

  The half-orc pulled the drawing toward himself. “Those look like dungeon coins. Monsters drop them sometimes. You’re never supposed to touch those, much less take them out of the dungeon.”

  Bambam nodded eagerly. “Terrible luck, touching those.”

  Weylan nodded gravely. “I’ll give you a description of the team that took it. I’d hunt them down myself, but I’m still enrolled at the academy. I can’t leave for a while.”

  Rhea looked around the table. Everyone nodded. She accepted the quest. “All right. Tell me what the culprits looked like.”

  Storytelling followed, and it didn’t take long for the Half-Brothers to recognize the description.

  Bambam slammed his mug on the table. “What? Those guys? The Harbingers? I’ll crush those treacherous bastards!”

  Weylan grinned. “Oh, you actually met them?”

  Rhea looked ready to kill someone. “We did. They claimed they wanted to help us with a decimation quest we were struggling with, then killed and looted us.”

  Gronk called across the tavern. “Where’s our beer? We need drink to calm our fury!”

  Bambam kicked his shin. “Don’t rush the innkeeper. He’s got plenty of customers and his waitress called in sick. He told us when we came in.”

  Rhea fixed the half-orc with a stern look. “That demands a donation to Hammersbald!”

  Gronk rolled his eyes, but produced a bronze coin and flicked it into the tip jar. It spun, rang, and dropped neatly inside.

  The innkeeper looked up from delivering a tray of food to another table. “Stop that nonsense! You can’t just invent gods. It’s disrespectful!”

  Gronk pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You dare deny the existence of Hammersbald, god of impatience?”

  The innkeeper’s face reddened, genuinely angry for the first time the delvers had seen. “I’ve heard you revenant lot calling on that god often enough. I asked the keeper of the shrine of all gods. There is no Hammersbald!”

  The Half-Brothers and a few nearby delvers feigned shock and outrage, though they convinced no one. Then the laughter returned. Rhea tipped the innkeeper again and promised to stop mocking the gods.

  Weylan and Stitch exchanged a glance and shrugged in unison.

  Revenant humor. Sometimes you just didn’t get it.