The group—ten adventurers plus one mage—didn't have an official name.

  Adventurers helped one another and shared hardships; that much at least made it into the ballads sung by traveling bards, at least around Brecka Town.

  In the end, though, this was a line of work where you could easily lose your head. Who would truly entrust their life to someone else?

  In the Phantom Forest, "teammate" was more or less synonymous with "cannon fodder" or "decoy."

  Renato, however, felt reasonably satisfied with the companions on this trip. Everyone was wearing proper armor and carrying metal weapons—already a huge improvement over the lunatics who showed up swinging wooden mallets or plain sticks.

  There were also quite a few veterans. Renato himself recognized "Little Finger" Joe," The Deserter" Marcus, "Big Guy" Bagg, and the rest looked familiar too. Not a single obvious greenhorn in the bunch.

  Under the mage's direction the party formed a rough semicircle, keeping the mage protected in the center. Understandable—he was, after all, the one paying.

  From the side-rear, "Little Finger" Joe drifted closer and struck up a conversation with Renato.

  "So what's the young master doing out here in person?"

  "Young master" was Renato's nickname around Brecka Town. Not hard to guess why: his appearance and manner of speaking set him too far apart from the rest.

  The nickname might originally have been meant to mock his fallen circumstances. A genuine noble reduced to this life might have felt the sting, but the current Renato was a man born in the internet age on Earth.

  To him the label carried no real offense, though that didn't stop him from firing back.

  "Watch yourself, Joe. Wouldn't want someone to cut off your other little finger."

  After the usual round of friendly insults, Joe got to the real question.

  "What's the story with that one?" He jerked his chin toward the mage in the middle of the formation. "He really a mage? I haven't seen any mage badge on him."

  Drawing on the knowledge in his head, Renato answered.

  "Stop pretending you know everything. Unless he's from the Mages' Association, no one wears a badge."

  Joe nodded thoughtfully. After a bit more mutual ribbing the two slipped back into their places in the marching order.

  Mages stood on a different plane entirely. Even in Renato's memories from his noble days he could count on one hand the number of times he had actually met one, and his knowledge about them was even thinner.

  Without the descriptions in the [Adventurer's Guide] he wouldn't even have been sure the man was a mage. Far too many professions had access to spell-like abilities.

  He and Joe weren't close, but they were on civil enough terms, so Renato didn't mind dropping the hint. Better Joe hear it now than do something stupid later and get himself—or someone else—killed.

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  In the Phantom Forest the line between adventurer and bandit was occasionally very thin.

  ————

  As the group pressed deeper, the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves gradually vanished, replaced by thickening gray-white fog.

  Renato knew what that meant: they had left the "safe" zone of the Phantom Forest and were now officially inside it.

  According to the Adventurers' Guild, the mist came from a grand illusion array set up long ago by the mages of the Nithel Kingdom. The Guild's own mages insisted that every lethal spell inside the array had already been neutralized.

  Staring at the ever-denser fog, Renato could only hope the Guild was right—that this particular mist was one of the non-lethal components and therefore hadn't been dispelled.

  The party stopped for a rest beside a large boulder at the edge of the trail. The mage, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up about the plan.

  "We need to cross the Mist Trail and reach the entrance to Dumb Valley by noon tomorrow. We'll head southeast along the shore of Mirror Lake."

  A standard, sensible route—no dangerous shortcuts, no pointless detours—so no one objected.

  While the others were more familiar with the Phantom Forest itself, Renato kept most of his attention on the mage.

  Judging by voice alone the man sounded mature, yet his face was surprisingly young. Still, Renato knew mages had all sorts of methods for extending their lives; apparent age was not a reliable indicator.

  The mage unfolded an elegant, precisely drawn map—at least ten silver coins' worth, Renato estimated.

  As the mage traced the route for everyone, Renato noticed two rings on his fingers. One held a deep-blue crystal that gave off a distinct magical aura.

  He couldn't tell what enchantment it carried, but considering the price of magical jewelry, its mere presence felt to Renato like having a first-level Courage spell active. It noticeably raised his confidence in the expedition.

  The mage's voice seemed to break the heavy silence that had settled over the group. During the short break conversation picked up.

  "You hear about it? Someone spotted a dragon on the Mist Trail."

  The thick northern accent made it obvious who was speaking—"Big Guy" Bagg.

  "A dragon? On the Mist Trail? Did you leave your brains on some whore's stomach last night?"

  Laughter rippled through the group. Bagg ignored the mockery and pressed on earnestly.

  "I'm serious! Yesterday a dragon attacked people on the Mist Trail! The few who made it out are all saying the same thing!"

  "Little Finger "Joe snorted.

  "You probably heard it from Sally or Harry or one of those liars. I know what happened yesterday—just some fresh-off-the-farm peasants. Bet they'd call a big lizard a dragon."

  More laughter. The topic quickly shifted to which whore Bagg had been with the night before. Renato listened in silence and felt a quiet pity for those unfortunate peasant adventurers. To the people here it seemed their deaths mattered no more than livestock.

  That was Brecka Town. Every day countless people walked into the Phantom Forest to die—slum dwellers, landless farmers, debtors…

  Most arrived with no combat skills, poor physiques, and zero knowledge of the monsters they would face. Some didn't even have proper weapons—just sharpened branches. Their two-silver registration fee had probably taken every last coin they owned.

  Those people rarely survived their first job. Often it wasn't even monsters that killed them; most died lost, wandering into forbidden areas, driven mad by illusions and maze spells, eventually starving in some forgotten corner.

  Only the ones who lived through that first disaster—and paid for the lesson with the corpses of their companions—began to learn the rules of the Phantom Forest. By the time they survived a third trip, Brecka Town would grudgingly "accept" them as real adventurers.

  Renato didn't join the chatter. Instead he opened his satchel out of habit and checked his gear, making sure everything would be ready if things turned bad.

  "Bandages, hemostatic powder, clotting pads, antidote, compass, rope, lantern…"

  Just in case, he had also brought five lead-tipped javelins and a sturdy oak shield.

  Unless absolutely necessary he planned to stay in the back and throw javelins. The goal was to finish the job, collect experience, and get paid—not to rush into the spider nest for eggs.

  He had already decided: if the situation inside looked wrong, survival came first. His life was worth far more than a handful of silver.

  ————

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