The atmosphere inside the inn was roaring. The main doors were propped open to let the cool evening air circulate, but the heat inside was palpable, generated by three massive hearths and two hundred bodies packed into the common room. Smoke from pipe-weed hung in a blue haze near the rafters. Bards were playing a lively jig in the corner, though they were barely audible over the din of shouting adventurers, clattering tankards, and the roar of laughter.

  They scanned the room as they entered. Usually, they would look for the party of Bun, Bean, and Fire to exchange barbs or compare loot. Tonight, however, their usual table was occupied by a group of rowdy mercenaries celebrating a successful bandit hunt.

  "No sign of Bun or the others," Brett noted, shouting to be heard over a particularly loud chorus from the bards. "Maybe they’re still deep?"

  "Or sleeping it off," Perberos suggested, though his eyes kept darting toward the empty spaces between tables. "Or they took one look at the Third Floor and decided to retire." He paused, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned in. "You don’t think it could have been them? At the gate? The guard said an adventurer group who’d just started around the 3rd floor..."

  Josh felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The "butcher’s work" the guards mentioned suddenly felt much more personal. "Bun is too arrogant to let a relic get the better of her," Josh said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

  "Aye," Bhel added, his grip tightening on his ale-horn. "And Bean is too twitchy. She’d smell a curse coming a mile off. But still... it could have been one of 'em?"

  "It wasn't that Bun-bunch," a raspy voice cut through their hushed conversation.

  A scarred adventurer named Kaelen, a man they’d shared a few awkward silences with in queues for the bar, brushed past them, balancing three foaming mugs. He stopped, looking at their worried faces with a grim, knowing smirk.

  "You're looking for the loudmouths, I take it? They’re fine. Saw 'em heading to the bathhouse ten minutes ago, the big one was complaining about the price of soap," Kaelen said, his expression darkening as he nodded toward the door. "The ones who didn't make it... that was 'The Iron Vow'. Silas and his lot."

  Josh felt a wave of relief so sharp it was almost shameful. They weren't friends with Bun’s group, if anything, they were a constant thorn in their side but the thought of them being torn apart on the cobbles had been a weight he wasn't ready to carry.

  "The Iron Vow?" Brett asked. "Silas? The tall fellow with the gold-inlaid buckler?"

  "The same," Kaelen sighed, leaning against a pillar. "It was his second-in-command, Korgren. The big guy who always carried that massive, rusted maul. Found some kind of 'Heart Stone’ deep down there, turned him into a beast as he cleared the portal. Silas tried to hold him back, but Korgren... he took Silas’s arm off with one swing. Then he went for Elara, their mage. She was the one the guard mentioned. She didn't even have time to raise a shield. Hear that the rest of the party took some serious injuries before the guards killed Korgren, or the thing that he had become. Doubt any of them will adventure again.”

  Josh remembered Elara. She had been a quiet, studious woman who always wore a pristine blue robe. To think of her being torn down by one of her own, was a sickening image.

  "Two gone, just like that," Kaelen muttered, moving off into the crowd. "Watch yourselves out there. Even the best of us can bring the wrong thing home."

  The party stood in a heavy silence for a moment, the bards’ music feeling suddenly discordant against the weight of Kaelen’s words. The relief that it wasn't Bun’s group was sharp and immediate, yet it felt hollow, tempered by the sobering reminder that even seasoned pros like The Iron Vow could be extinguished in a heartbeat.

  Bhel was the first to shift, his shoulders dropping as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. He adjusted the heavy strap of his pack and looked toward the door. "Bathhouse, then," Bhel grunted, a ghost of a smirk finally breaking through his grimace. "Though I’m surprised to hear Bun’s lot are there. I didn’t think she knew what soap was, let alone how to use it without adult supervision."

  The small jab acted like a release valve, cutting through the morbid atmosphere.

  "They probably think the steam counts as a magical buff," Brett added dryly.

  They moved through the crowd toward the rear of the common room, finally claiming a booth tucked away in a semi-private alcove. It offered a strategic view of the rowdy hall while providing a much-needed buffer from the heat and the crush of bodies. They collapsed onto the scarred wooden benches, the timber groaning in protest under the weight of their armour and the sheer exhaustion of the day. For a few minutes, nobody spoke; they simply sat in the dim light, watching the firelight dance across the rafters, grateful to be among the living.

  A serving girl bustled over, wiping her hands on her apron. "Evening, loves. You look like you’ve been through a grinder. The usual?"

  "Double the usual," Bhel ordered, slamming his fist on the table. "Roast boar if you have it. Stew if you don't. And a pitcher of the Dark Hills Stout. No, make it two pitchers."

  "And bread," Josh added. " lots of bread."

  When the drinks finally arrived, the heavy thud of stoneware on the table seemed to anchor them to the present. Bhel took the lead, his hands steady as he poured the thick, dark ale for the group. Even Carcan, usually the most reserved, accepted a full mug, the amber light of the hearth reflecting in the deep liquid.

  Bhel raised his tankard, his usual boisterousness replaced by a quiet, weathered gravity. He looked each of them in the eye, his gaze lingering on the empty space at the end of the table before he spoke.

  "To the steel that held," Bhel began, his voice low and resonant. "To the brothers and sisters we left behind. And to the gods-damned miracle of walking back through those gates."

  "To the steel," Josh echoed, the ceramic clink of his mug against Bhel’s sounding like a sharp punctuation mark in the quiet alcove.

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  "To the lost," Carcan whispered. She didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the foam swirling in her cup as if reading a map of old regrets.

  "And to coming home," Brett added. The words came out as a long, shaky exhale, the tension finally draining from his face as the reality of their survival settled in.

  They drank deep. The ale was cold, bitter, and strong. It washed away the taste of ozone and ash, grounding them back in the world of the living.

  For a while, they just drank. Then the food arrived, platters of steaming roast pork, root vegetables glistening with butter, and loaves of dark rye bread, they attacked it with a savagery that drew glances from nearby tables. Dungeon delving burned calories like a furnace, and they were running on fumes.

  As the meal wound down and the second pitcher of ale was tapped, the conversation finally turned to the future.

  "So," Brett said, tearing off a piece of bread and mopping up the gravy on his plate. "We are level 18. We have a pile of gold. We have cleared the second floor."

  "And we quickly retreated from the Third," Carcan pointed out gently, swirling her wine - not able to handle drinking ale for too long.

  "Strategic withdrawal," Perberos corrected. "We assessed the threat and realised we were combat-ineffective."

  "Whatever you call it," Josh said, leaning back against the rough wood of the booth. "We aren't ready for those plains. The sheer number of enemies we saw in the distance... if we pull aggro on one of those warrens without knowing the layout, we’ll be swarmed."

  "Aye," Bhel grunted, picking his teeth with a splinter of bone. "My axes are sharp, but I can't chop a thousand lizards at once… or are they rats? They confuse me. Either way. We need levels. We need to hit that Level 20 threshold. Should be strong enough by then right?"

  "That’s smart thinking." The voice came from the booth behind them. A man stood up and leaned over the partition. He was older, perhaps in his late forties, with skin that looked like cured leather and a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent, cynical smirk. He wore armour that was a patchwork of high-level monster hides—drake scale, bear fur, and something that looked suspiciously like Wyvern skin.

  "Sorry to eavesdrop," the stranger said, holding up a tankard in peace. "But I heard you mention the Third Floor. And the decision to wait for Level 20."

  "And?" Perberos asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  "And it’s the smartest thing I’ve heard in this tavern all week," the man said, taking a swig of his drink. "Name’s Jakart. I run solo mostly, sometimes duo."

  "Solo?" Bhel looked impressed. "You run the deep floors alone?"

  "Stealth build," Kegan shrugged. "I don't fight if I don't have to. But let me tell you... the Third Floor? The Indigo Plains?" He shuddered, a genuine ripple of distaste passing through him. "It’s not like the Foundry. The Foundry is honest. Fire burns. Hammers crush. Simple physics."

  He leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

  "The Plains deceive you. It looks open. It looks like you can see for miles. But the grass... the grass hides things. Hunters that move silently. And the Warrens? They are connected. You attack one, and the vibration calls others from three hills over. I went down there at Level 19, cocky as a rooster. I barely made it back to the portal with my skin attached. I lost my best dagger in a Thresher-Maw."

  Josh exchanged a look with the others. "Thresher-Maw?"

  "Imagine a beast the size of a carriage with a mouth like a meat grinder," Kegan said grimly. "And it jumps. The kobolds keep them as pets. Trust me, friends. Grind the Foundry. Get to Level 20. Get to Level 21 if you have the patience. You want more stats, and ideally better skills, before you step any further onto that moss."

  "Thanks for the tip," Josh said, offering a nod of respect.

  "Don't mention it," Kegan waved a hand. "I just hate seeing promising groups get wiped because they rushed the content. Enjoy your ale. You earned it."

  Kegan sat back down, disappearing behind the partition.

  The party sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the warning.

  "Thresher-Maws," Brett whispered, looking pale. "Why does everything have to be giant and have too many teeth?"

  "Because it’s a dungeon, lad," Bhel laughed, slapping the mage on the back. "If they were fluffy bunnies, we wouldn't get paid."

  "So the plan stands," Josh said, bringing them back to focus. "We stay on the Second Floor. We run the Foundry a few more times."

  "How many runs?" Carcan asked. "To hit Level 20?"

  "At our current XP rate," Brett calculated mentally, his eyes unfocusing for a second. "With the diminishing returns starting to kick in... maybe four runs? Five if we skip the side rooms."

  "Four runs of the Foundry," Josh nodded. "That’s doable. We know the layout now. We know most of the beasts I imagine. And we know how to beat the Master."

  "Assuming the Master doesn't change like the first floor boss room did," Perberos noted darkly.

  "The boss didn’t usually change… just the room. And I can’t imagine much worse than that room." Brett assured him.

  "Speaking of which," Bhel said, leaning forward. "What are you going to do, Josh? Tharn has some decent blades in stock, but if we’re flush with cash... maybe you commission something?"

  Josh looked at his empty hands. He thought about the mace Perberos had suggested. He thought about the spear. But mostly, he thought about the shield. The way it felt now. The way he could interpret the flow of battle through it.

  "I need something that works with the shield," Josh said slowly. "Not just alongside it. A sword is good for slashing, but in those tight corridors, or against armoured plates... I felt limited sometimes."

  "A short spear?" Carcan suggested again. "You can thrust from behind the block. Keep your guard up 100% of the time."

  "Or a war-pick," Bhel offered. "Punch through plate like paper."

  "I’ll browse tomorrow," Josh decided. "I want to hold them. Feel the weight... I think the system will tell me what fits."

  The evening wore on. The tension of the dungeon faded into a warm, golden haze of alcohol and camaraderie. They told jokes, bad ones, mostly from Bhel and recounted the fight with the Dragon-Kin, laughing now at the absurdity of Josh shoving a boss out of a magical circle.

  "Aggressive geometry," Brett chuckled, slurring his words slightly. "I’m putting that in the party chronicles. 'And then Josh defeated the wizard using the power of shapes'."

  "It worked," Josh grinned, nursing his third ale.

  "It did," Perberos agreed, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "It was... unconventional. But effective."

  Around them, the inn grew louder, then slowly quieter as the night deepened and patrons stumbled home. The fire in the hearth burned down to glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the table.

  Josh looked at them. Bhel, braiding a loose thread on his tunic. Brett, trying to balance a spoon on his nose. Carcan, quietly observing the room with a serene smile. Perberos, ever watchful but relaxed in their company.

  They were a mess of different races, backgrounds, and skills. They argued. They bickered. But when the chains snapped and the floor fell away... they caught each other.

  "We’re going to be okay," Josh said suddenly. It wasn't a question.

  They looked at him.

  "Aye," Bhel said softly. "We are."

  "To the grind," Brett toasted, raising a sleepy glass.

  "To the grind," they chorused.

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