The last rays of the setting sun painted the quickly darkening skies into shades of orange as Seventh and Nevin exited the bathhouse. Seventh blinked at the sky.

  "How long were we in?" he asked in wonderment.

  Nevin raised three fingers.

  "What? Three hours? How did that happen???"

  With a predatory grin, Nevin mimed a repeating hitting— or oddly angled stabbing— motion. Either he had done some wetwork during their stay or he had really enjoyed the weird elven branch hitting rituals. Seventh decided that the latter was less troublesome and went with that.

  "I still have Oran's backpack. Mind if I tag along?"

  Nevin's hand bucked and weaved, and stopped at a thumbs up, indicating it was no trouble, actually quite the opposite. He didn't want to carry the mountainous rucksack, so Seventh followed him through the streets.

  Street vendors were closing their small stalls, folding small canopies down, and transforming the stalls into easy-to-maneuver carts that slowly filled the bigger streets, replacing the bigger carts that had been zipping around earlier.

  Pedestrians without carts disappeared into the inns and taverns peppered throughout the street view. Laughter and singing echoed along the street through the open windows. Some taverns even had music playing and a bard singing the newest tunes.

  The route to the tavern— Janiq had called it the Bloated Badger Tavern— led Seventh and Nevin to smaller side streets, where the houses slowly shrank to smaller houses and hovels. Only the taverns and occasional shop boasted with a second floor and tiled roof. Everything else was roofed with thatch, and built with cheaper wood and stone.

  Seventh reflexively checked his belt in case of thieves before he realized he actually didn't have a coin pouch to worry about. Or any money for that matter. The movement caught the eye of a group of young men loitering outside of a tavern, tankards resting on an empty barrel acting as a table. When they saw his clothes and empty belt bereft of coin, they rolled their eyes and continued their conversation about planting flowers next week. Gardeners in the city were wildly different from what Seventh had expected.

  Maybe he really was from the boonies? Everything in the city felt wrong. Too filled up with too many people with busy lives. Narrow streets and constant noise all around him didn't feel welcoming either, and the only good thing was the clean air and the sky. Looking up, Seventh could see the first twinkles of stars far above him.

  He almost missed the stopped Nevin and barely stopped half a step before barreling right into him. The elf's stoic expression didn't change, but Seventh could almost feel the quiet displeasure. They had stopped at a crossroads of five streets, right next to a long and tall building that reminded Seventh of a barn.

  It had been painted green sometime in the last decade, but the paint had chipped and flaked, revealing the sun-bleached wood underneath. A crooked placard hanging above the door proudly presented a badger laying on the ground with a bulging stomach and a thumbs-up. Did badgers have thumbs?

  Seventh raised a dubious eyebrow at the facade and Nevin.

  The elf shrugged, rubbed his fingers together, slapped his stomach, and finally gave Seventh a thumbs-up. It doesn't look like much, but is cheap, and good enough.

  Walking in, Seventh expected a dingy, smog-filled, dark tavern but was pleasantly surprised by the clean interior and warm light filling every corner. At least the furniture matched to Seventh's expectations: a haphazard collection of mismatched stools and chairs surrounding wildly different-shaped tables. Most tables had a small metallic lantern lighting the vicinity or it was hanging above the table on thick wooden beams crisscrossing the roof.

  The clientele was predominantly male, but Seventh spotted an occasional female here and there, and the race spectrum was wide with humans, elves, beastkin and dwarves sitting together. The only thing truly connecting the patrons was their apparent profession.

  Worn armor, sheathed weapons on full display, and backpacks littering the floor told Seventh this tavern was in the adventurers' favor. Nobody turned their heads, but Seventh earned a couple of side glances, mostly because Nevin entered after him.

  The counter was immediately next to the door, jammed below the stairs to the upper floor. A long two-handed sword hung in its scabbard right above an older woman filling tankards. She was dressed in the expected uniform fit for a tavern keeper: well-used tunic protected by a thick leather apron colored by decades' worth of blood, sweat, and tears. Seventh could feel her gaze scanning him through before she peered behind him and noticed Nevin. A warm smile cracked her face full of wrinkles.

  “Nevin! My favorite sneaky boy! Get a tankard— get two— and scamper to the back. The rest are already waiting.” Her voice was younger than Seventh expected and filled with more hospitality than he expected. “This is the guy?” She continued her statement, scanning Seventh. Four tankards slammed to the counter and slid towards the elf and the necromancer.

  “I think I am? I'm a guy, yeah, but the guy?” Seventh asked while almost reflexively lifting two full tankards.

  The tavern keeper chuckled and fixed a stray grey hair behind her ear. She had an amused expression that Seventh couldn't quite decipher. “That checks out. You'll see.” She winked at Seventh and turned to serve two men who had walked to the counter with empty plates.

  Being left with some burning questions, Seventh navigated through the tavern towards the back. Next to the counter was a swinging door revealing a small kitchen when a barmaid walked through with hands full of plates piled high with steaming food.

  It turned out all Seventh had to do was to follow the barmaid. She bucked and weaved professionally through the hubbub, unevenly spaced tables, and snoozing patrons on the floor. Finding the correct table next to a roiling fireplace, she switched the full plates with empty ones. The barmaid was already halfway back when Seventh found the rest of the party.

  Janiq and Oran were sitting next to each other, surrounded by empty plates, tankards, piles of bones and other food-based refuse. Sylvia was observing them with quiet horror and fascination on her face while enjoying a smaller plate of assorted meat slices complimented with potatoes, washed down with red wine. Jenn was lying on the bench she and Sylvia were, and rested her head on the elf's lap while groaning quietly. Judging from the smaller pile of mugs and plates, she had gone to the deep end too fast and too greedily.

  "Nevin! Seventh! Sneaky backstabbing bath boy and the man with the number! How is our newest friend? Scrubbed clean and smelling of roses?" Oran asked before bellowing a meaty laughter full of joy.

  “Scrubbed clean, shiny, and full of hope,” Seventh said and slid the tankards towards the eager eaters. He commandeered one of Nevin's to himself. The Rogue sat at the end of the table after poking Jenn to move her legs off his chair.

  She managed to get only one eye open and looked around. “Heyyy, he cleans up nice...” The eye closed and groaning continued.

  Seventh looked down at his grey clothes full of patches and made a very ratkin-like shrug. Those versed in the subtle art of shrugging could see his indifference. “They had good washers hidden away. Anyways, Oran. You forgot this.”

  With a rippling flash of purple and a thunk, the mountainous backpack appeared next to the table and immediately tried to collapse to the neighboring table. Oran grabbed the pack before it could do any damage, and with a hoist leaned it against a wall. The patrons of the other table glared at Seventh before returning their hushed conversation.

  "Ooh. That, yeah, yeah. I remembered that. No worries," Oran mumbled and skewered a small pile of meat on a fork.

  A smaller package appeared on Seventh's hands. A dark bolt of fur, neatly rolled and tied with a piece of string. He handed it towards Nevin— and then poked Nevin with it until he hesitantly accepted the pelt. A rare change of expression betrayed his hesitancy.

  Seventh sighed. "I told you— multiple times in fact— this is yours. Payment for babysitting."

  He looked around the table to the friendly faces. “I— uh...”

  Suddenly, finding the right words— or words at all— felt hard. How do you thank anybody for this kind of service? Just one pelt for Nevin didn't feel enough. And... after this they were done. He had his own life and West Wind had theirs. He wasn't skilled enough to join them and would he even fit? Oran for once absolutely despised the undead.

  He stood silently, and took a sip from his forgotten tankard. Pleasantly sweet taste and nice mouthfeel. He was expecting bitter ale or beer, so the mead was a pleasant distraction for a second.

  Janiq had risen to his wobbly feet, and with a single step he was giving Seventh a handshake and a firm slap on the shoulder. “You... are one of the most interesting travel companions we've had. It's not a bad thing, and your heart is in the right place.” His smile could have lit any room. “Sit down, eat. Celebrate your first successful dungeon crawl! Meat and mead!”

  His voice rose to a crescendo and his tankard rose high to the air. His declaration of food and drink was echoed all around the tavern, and the swordsman gulped down the mead in one go. Seventh walked the wobbling party leader to his seat.

  The invitation was tempting. More than tempting. But the glances he received and the crowd had started to rub Seventh the wrong way. He had a sneaking suspicion that showing off inventory Skills in a crowded tavern wasn't one of his more subtle acts. The peeks and ogling themselves weren't hostile or anything, it was just... the crowded tavern itself. Too many people made Seventh's skin crawl, and he took another deeper gulp from his cup.

  "Sorry. I, uh, need to go to bed. It has been an adventure and a half for me and— well I need to sleep. Proper sleep," Seventh said while casting quick glances around.

  Disappointment flashed on West Wind's faces, but Oran nodded slowly. He finished his drink in one long gulp. He rose to tower over Seventh. It would have been terrifying if not the widest, warmest smile Seventh had ever seen. Before he knew it, he was trapped in a crushing bearhug and raised up. "Don't be a stranger. When ya figure out what ya wanna do— adventuring, scholarly work— let us know. There's a bet going on."

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  The others gave Oran blank looks when he lowered Seventh back to the lower orbit. "What? It's not like I tried to push him towards what I think he's gonna do."

  "Still, poor taste, Oran," Sylvia said.

  To Seventh's surprise, she gave him a hug. An awkwardly proper and stiff, but a hug nonetheless. "If you are lost, the Church of the System will guide you," she whispered to his ear. "The System provides."

  He didn't have time to even raise an eyebrow before Jenn barreled on top of them, creating a grouphug. "Your nots a number for uss," she slurred. "Your Sam now. Not Seventh. Saaammm." She bonked her head on Seventh's shoulder and continued raspberrying his name. It... sounded wrong.

  There were some jealous and amused looks thrown at Seventh at the moment and he felt heat rising to his face. Probably just the mead, yep. Just the mead. He and Sylvia tried to escape Jenn's grasp, but the ranger held on to her deeply blushing prisoners.

  "She thought yer name is long and weird— like elvish name to fool fey-folk— so she gave you a nickname," Oran clarified.

  Seventh breathed slowly through his nose and accepted his fate. He was clearly being adopted by a group of traveling oddballs. “What's wrong with my name? Excuse me, but it is mine. System given and all.”

  Jenn snorted loudly at Seventh's shoulder. He could feel something wet and slimy on his newly cleaned shirt. That didn't take long. “Can somebody help me with her? Please?”

  Sylvia helped Seventh to peel the drunken Ranger off of him, and gently led her to snooze on the bench. Free from everybody hugging, Seventh stood alone next to the table for a heartbeat and nodded. "Thanks. Goodnight."

  And he walked away. Only to realize after the first steps he had no plan what to do next. He walked all the way to the other end of the tavern to the bar counter before he even had half a thought formed. The mead was very good and went straight to his head when he had emptied it during his walk.

  The tavern keeper came to his rescue. "So, you're Seventh? Or Sam? Janiq asked to put your room and board to their tab. When you get money, pay it back. Second floor, last room to the left. Shitter's in the back."

  She promptly slapped a bronze key on Seventh's hand and waltzed away, a full tray of mead balancing on her professional hand. Seventh blinked.

  Well, that's an answer to some of my problems.

  Casually looking over his shoulder, Seventh could see the West Wind were back at eating and drinking. Nevin turned his head to lock on Seventh's gaze. The elf made a slow, deep nod, and lifted his mug before turning back to his companions.

  Stairs to the upper floor were a rickety safety hazard that had every single board creaking under Seventh's weight. He had seen himself in the mirror, he wasn't that impressive with his starving peasant look— the shoulders were wide, but without substance— and the wood shouldn't creak this much.

  Slightly miffed, he found the door to his room and after stepping in, he found out that the room was big enough for the door to open, a bed, and a minuscule bed table big enough to hold a mug or two.

  Despite what he said downstairs, Seventh wasn't immediately going to sleep. Closing the door, and arranging the table closer to the middle point of the bed, Seventh dug through his satchel and neatly placed tools he needed on the table. Quills, ink, and parchment. He finally had some time to himself and mapmaking.

  Gently tapping the excess ink from his quill, Seventh went to work, carefully drawing out where he had come from.

  ─── ≈≈≈ ───

  Downstairs, a group of adventurers talked in hushed tones.

  "So, is he okay? Seventh I mean," Janiq asked while receiving another plate full of meat.

  "Saaaaaam! We call him Sam," Jenn piped up, drunkenly raising her arm making it lift over the table. It reminded a snake posturing itself to strike.

  "Sure," Janiq said.

  "Hmmm," Nevin wondered. His brow furrowing just a fraction. Fingers tapping the tankard.

  Sylvia picked up the signs. She had known him since childhood and had traveled with him all the way from the Grandfather's Grove. Patiently waiting for Nevin's answer, she fixed her posture a fraction. That was picked up by Jenn that turned the hand snake towards the elven spellcaster.

  Hoisting herself up, Jenn signaled to Janiq and Oran that something was up and they scanned the table tracking the signs back to Nevin who tapped the tankard again, deep in thought.

  A domino effect of cues, signs, and reactions. Nevin liked how their team worked like that. Easy to read the mood just by looking one of them. Easy to work with. And others knew him too, and waited.

  "He had scars," Nevin finally said.

  Every adventurer had scars, it wasn't wholly unexpected. Healing potions, elixirs, and ointments could only speed up the body's own healing processes and they always left scars. Only divine healers and high-ranked potions left the flesh unmarked.

  But Seventh wasn't an adventurer, and Nevin never said anything unnecessary. Everyone was waiting. Nevin took a sip out of his cup before continuing. "Big ones. Left arm, legs. Smaller all over. Ear."

  "Damn, he must've had worse time in the dungeon than we thought. Bad potions?" Oran wondered out loud.

  "Probably. Impurities in the alchemical mixture could have serious side effects. Gods know what he used for healing," Sylvia mused.

  "Maybe he'll lose some of the scars when properly healed?" Jenn asked before starting to slip back to more horizontal position.

  Janiq lifted his tankard in deep thought. "If the scars are fresh, yes. Old scars stay no matter how powerful the healing is."

  Oran nodded gravely. “So, we still thinking he really is just a civilian lost in the dungeon? He wasn't just, you know, faking how bad he was at fighting— and his oddities?”

  “Yes, a total civilian,” Janiq answered. “There are tells when you downplay your abilities. He had learned fighting from Skills and observing ratkin. Maybe even sparred with that stronger minion of his. Was it named Fang?”

  “Yes. He also talked about magic like he had just a superficial knowledge from Skills. He didn't even know what an Essence Stone was,” Sylvia said.

  “Oh yeah, I remember that.”

  “He even has a skill to make them himself,” Sylvia said and enjoyed Janiq's dumbfounded face.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes. He showed us when you and Oran were running and sweating all around the dungeon.” Sylvia's lips arched up a little and she sipped her wine.

  "Hmmm," Nevin sounded. Sylvia lifted an eyebrow at the same time Jenn appeared from the bench. Getting two remarks from Nevin in a conversation? This was getting serious.

  "He used Identify oddly. Didn't close his eyes, and he saw something.”

  Silence fell to the table. Mostly because of the longest sentence Nevin had said in years, but also because what he had said.

  "He saw something?" Sylvia asked quietly. "Like what?"

  Nevin sighed. He would have to continue speaking. So troublesome. "Text. I saw eye movement."

  Sylvia's eyes widened. "Oh."

  That was all she would say. The two elves stared at each other in silence until Oran coughed not so casually at his fist.

  "Ya two wanna share?"

  "No," Sylvia said.

  "Why?"

  Nevin moved two of his fingers in air, making an S.

  Oran cursed. "Godsdamnit. That old Church crap again? Why ya can't just say?"

  The elves crossed their arms simultaneously and stared defiantly at Oran. “You could always join. The Church of the System embraces all with open arms.”

  "Please," Janiq said before Oran said anything stupid back. The talk had sobered him up considerably. "If it was something nefarious, they would say. Right?"

  Nevin shrugged. He really wasn't helping the situation.

  "It's personal— to Seventh,” Sylvia said. “He did use Church's ranking scale instead of metal one, so he might have grown with the church.”

  "I... see. Anything else to add to the report?" Janiq asked.

  Nevin shook his head, almost annoyed.

  Janiq raised his hand in surrender. "I'm more than fine with your assessment, you two know that. Let me get the next round, yeah?"

  He stood up, even if half of the mugs were almost untouched. He sighed deeply before reaching the counter. He didn't like reporting other people to the Adventurers' Guild, but Seventh ticked too many boxes of suspicious person to ignore.

  Teleportation accident that just happened to bamf him into a safer part of a dungeon? Getting a new class out of the blue? And what was that Church business? Seeing text?

  Seventh didn't seem like a bad guy to Janiq— little raw with his Skill, sure— but something was off from his story. A detail he had missed. It would nag at him for days. Like Oran was surely going to bitch and moan about Sylvia and Nevin being secretive and mysterious.

  He sighed again. Elves, always trouble with the past.

  "Rough delve?" the tavern keeper asked.

  "No, just long. A routine mining expedition guard duty and return trip on foot. Well, almost routine. We did pick up a civie lost in the dungeon," Janiq said.

  "Nooo, reeeally?" Annise said in mock wonderment. "Like the whole bloody tavern hasn't heard about that already."

  "Oran can be boisterous," Janiq said and ordered more drinks for the party.

  "Oh, not just him. Jenn was singing about 'Sammy-boy' while at the crapper. Awful melody, but informative."

  Janiq buried his face in his hands and groaned. His voice was muffled when he spoke. "This is why I don't take them to anywhere nice."

  "Oi!" Annise said indignantly. "Badger is the most prestigious establishment of the whole Western Lip!"

  "And that's why we grace it with our presence," Janiq said with a disarming smile, and weaponized amount of charm on his lips.

  Annise scoffed and filled the mugs.

  Janiq received the drinks, and carefully balancing them, he navigated through the complex tavern-themed obstacle course, returning to his table and party. After sitting down and downing another drink, he had almost washed away the muck of the dungeon from the back of his throat.