A giant, bus-sized pig, no, a tusked monster boar, followed a crowd of screaming, running pedestrians moving in his direction.

  The giant boar's nostrils flared, somehow finding Jeremy's scent. It picked up its pace, switching from the pedestrians to Jeremy.

  It hadn't even met Jeremy, but it recognized the scent of an adventurer. That was so unfair.

  Jeremy looked around. He needed to run, but they had him surrounded. Run where?

  Help arrived in the form of Officer Bobo strolling casually alongside a Dungeonville office building, swinging his club back and forth and looking up at the sky. He was clearly trying very hard not to notice the screaming pedestrians nearby.

  “Officer Bobo,” Jeremy said, running up to him.

  The policeman made a questioning noise. Jeremy pushed the man against the wall of the multi-story office building he was standing next to, ran up to the policeman, jumped on him, and used the large man's shoulders as a platform to reach a second-story window. From there, he jumped across and up to the next windowsill and the next, continuing to do this until he was just below the roof. Pulling himself onto the final windowsill, he jumped to the edge of the roof and onto the stone slabs. Some things were a lot easier with 20 Agility.

  “Thank you,” he called down to Officer Bobo.

  Something huge smashed into the building, coming close to knocking him off. He stepped backward onto the roof to give himself a more secure purchase and reached for his bow.

  Officer Bobo saw the monster boar and ran to a large metal box (presumably for garbage), jumped into it, and pulled the lid down on top of himself to hide.

  The giant monster boar backed away and ran around the building. Something slammed into the building again, and again. He'd heard pigs were smart and had a keen sense of smell. Sneak might not be useful. Just as well, since without his mana charm, he was unable to hold Sneak any longer.

  He put away his cloak, grabbed his new bow and arrows, and ran to the other side of the building. By the time he'd drawn his bow and fired, the three monster pigs and the giant tusked monster boar were running away, again, circling to the opposite side of the building.

  He failed to get a good shot, hitting one of the running pigs on the flank, making it squeal as it ran away. If this went on, he could shoot at them all day and accomplish nothing. And the building felt like it could come down any second. The monsters slammed into the building again. He could feel the building shudder.

  He pulled out his flask of diluted poison and dipped the tip of one of his armor-piercing arrows into it. The poison hissed as it ate away at the sharp steel tip. He ran to the other side of the building and fired as the four monsters ran away, hitting another monster pig in the side. With the poison, that should be all that he needed to kill the thing. He dipped the tip of a second arrow, ran across the building, and fired, hitting a third monster pig on the leg. He did this again quickly, before they realized he'd poisoned them. He missed the monster boar and hit the first monster pig he'd shot. The building was definitely damaged; he could feel it shifting beneath him and knew it could fall at any time. His fourth poisoned arrow missed again as the monster boar ducked behind one of the others as they circled the building.

  This time, he pretended to run to the other side of the building, then he ran back again and fired, hitting the monster boar on the neck as it rammed the building. He almost fell off the roof in the process.

  He ran to the side of the building facing a narrow alleyway, jumped down to the window below him, dropping to the next window below the first, then, feeling the building falling, he let himself hang off the sill and let go. He hit the ground harder than he'd have liked, but got up and ran, just avoiding being trampled by an enraged monster pig as pieces of the building rained down on him. He kept running, keeping to alleys too narrow for the monsters, until he was gasping for breath. He should put a point or two into endurance, he thought.

  An eternity of running later, he felt four additions to his dungeon account.

  He turned around and walked back, making sure Detect Traps was active.

  Officer Bobo had reappeared and was hitting the dead boar with his club, trying to look important.

  Jeremy passed the four dead monsters being reabsorbed into the dungeon and kept going. He carefully walked into the bank. When he saw what was in the cellar, he moaned. There were five cute, sleeping, monster piglets, each about the size of a small car.

  “Not piglets. Why does it have to be piglets?” He got out his bow with a sigh. This wouldn't take long.

  Once he'd finished, he pulled out A Child's Guide to the Dungeon. Sure enough, there was a picture of a child standing in front of three normal-sized pigs.

  QUEST COMPLETED!

  You have killed the monsters infesting the bank! The bank can go back to serving the town's banking needs. Good work, adventurer!

  Your relationship with the town's bank has gone from Neutral to Friendly.

  You have gained experience and money from killing a few low level monsters. Now go to the bank and collect your reward!

  When he came out of the cellar, the bank had miraculously reverted to normal. A skinny older man in a suit came up and shook Jeremy's hand. “You saved our bank, good work, adventurer! I am Mr. Bankster,” The man shook Jeremy's hand much longer than needed.

  A second, larger man, also wearing a suit, joined the first and was quick to shake Jeremy's hand as well. “I am Mr. May'r. I am in charge of this community.”

  “Both of you speak?” These were the first Dungeonville residents capable of speech.

  “Of course, of course. Come this way.” Mr. Bankster led Jeremy through the bank and into a large office.

  Mr. Bankster took a seat at his desk. “I would like to express my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude on behalf of myself and the bank. Now, with your permission, I will take 100dc from your dungeon account, and you can be on your way.”

  “What?” Jeremy said. “Your bank owes me 10,000dc.”

  “Of course we did,” Mr. Bankster said. “Let me explain.” He pulled out a spreadsheet. “As you see, this is your 10,000dc. Now subtracted from your 10,000dc is your Adventurer tax. That's eighty percent, leaving you 2,000dc. Then there are the banking fees, adventurer licensing fees, and using a weapon within the town limits fee. As you can see, you owe us exactly 100dc.”

  “Easy there, Mr. Bankster, I think we can forget about that 100dc charge. Mr. Adventurer, there is something else I was hoping you could help us with.”

  “What?” Jeremy asked warily. These men reminded him of his landlord. A man who always seemed nice, but kept trying to overcharge his mother by adding late fees she didn't owe.

  Mr. May'r leaned back in his chair, pulled out a long, narrow cigarette, lit it, inhaled, then exhaled, blowing smoke everywhere, leaving the shiny cigarette lighter and pack of cigarettes on the office desk. This was the first actual flame Jeremy had seen since being pushed into the dungeon.

  “Well,” Mr. May'r began. “We have these neighbors. Not monsters, exactly, but not people either. Nasty little creatures, considered inferior by all right-thinking people. Now, these creatures' beloved, democratically elected chief seems to think that because his tribe evolved in this region, the mana crystal mine they live next to is theirs, and we must buy mana crystals from them.” Mr. May'r took another drag on his cigarette. “Now, if some fine adventurer like yourself would kill this filthy, beloved democratically elected tribal leader, we could then install a more reasonable ruler who would be more sympathetic to our needs. We would, of course, pay you very well for doing this.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Jeremy decided he liked the Dungeonville residents better when they couldn't speak. He was in an office with two scary adults who both reminded him of his landlord. He stood up. “So Mr. Bankster is trying to rob me, and Mr. May'r wants me to kill a being for trying to defend his territory.” He thought of Urg, who had never hurt anyone but had been killed in front of him. He pulled out his sword. “How about I kill the two of you instead?”

  He wasn't sure what he'd do if the two men fought back. He'd never killed a human. These Dungeonville residents might not be human, but they were close.

  Instead of trying to fight him, Mr. May'r flung himself backward, falling out of his chair, and ran from the room, screaming, “Politician Hater!”

  Mr. Bankster stood up slowly, hands in the air. “Please don't hurt me.”

  Jeremy grabbed the cigarettes and lighter from the desk and put them in a pocket to examine later. “I want 10,000 dungeon coin, now.”

  The old man nodded frantically. “Right away, sir.”

  Jeremy followed Mr. Bankster out of the office, alert for any tricks. The old man simply went to the tellers. “This young adventurer wishes to rob the bank. Please give him 10,000 dungeon coin, right now.”

  Alarms went off, the tellers screamed and ran around like chickens with their heads cut off, but they quickly wheeled in a cart holding a large bag full of dungeon coin. He grabbed one. It looked like a regular dungeon coin, except it had 1 on it.

  “Wait! Shouldn't this be one dungeon coin with 10,000 on it, as opposed to 10,000 individual dungeon coin with 1 on them?” He shouted. Nobody answered.

  Jeremy felt changes to his stat sheet.

  Bank Robber!

  Your standing with banks has gone from friendly to hostile.

  Politician Hater!

  Your standing with politicians has gone from neutral to hostile.

  It turned out 10,000 individual dungeon coins. weighed the same as 10,000 gold pieces, which is to say, a lot. “Dungeon, please move the dungeon coin to my dungeon account, or convert it into one coin,” he said quietly. Wasn't this supposed to happen automatically? And if it didn't, how was he going to get this cart down the steps? He tried lifting the bag of dungeon coin. Even with his considerable strength, the sack was too heavy for him.

  He pushed the cart, getting it moving, slowly at first, then a little faster, pushing the cart out of the bank entrance. As he suspected, once he reached the steps in front of the bank, the cart clattered down the first few steps before tipping over, sliding, and rolling the rest of the way down. By the time the cart and coin had stopped moving, the cart and coin were at the bottom of the steps, and the dungeon coin had come out of the bag, scattering everywhere.

  “Dungeon, please move the dungeon coin to my dungeon account!” he said louder. Again, nothing happened. He concentrated on the individual coins, trying to combine them. No luck.

  Dungeonville residents were coming from everywhere, surrounding him. Officer Bobo stood nearby, holding up his club and glaring at him from a safe distance. Jeremy's stat sheet changed again.

  Your standing with the police has gone from friendly to hostile.

  Your standing with the townspeople has gone from neutral to hostile.

  The adventurer police have arrived!

  As close as he could figure, the adventurer police were twenty people in armor, carrying swords and crossbows, looking more like the military than any police he'd seen. Identify, revealed they were level 1 and 2 fighters. He wasn't worried about any one of them, but together they might be able to take him down. He needed to do something fast. He removed his pack and tried to get the large bag of gold coins inside it. But the sack was too large, or heavy, or something, and refused to go in.

  “It appears you have gotten yourself in a bit of a predicament,” Flint said, appearing next to him, tapping his DON'T BE AN IDIOT whiteboard. “I must insist you return the dungeon coin to the bank and apologize to the banker and politician immediately.”

  “No.” Jeremy glared at Flint.

  “If you don't, your life is in danger. You will also be throwing away an opportunity to gain a large quantity of experience, wealth, and charmed items.”

  Jeremy, remembering an old movie he'd seen, grabbed a handful of dungeon coin and tossed them in Officer Bobo's direction. Officer Bobo got on his hands and knees, grabbing as many coins as he could. Townspeople rushed over to join him. Officer Bobo glared at them, using his club to keep them away. Jeremy tossed him more. His stat sheet sent him another message.

  Your standing with the police has gone from hostile to friendly.

  Jeremy grabbed handfuls of gold and tossed them in every direction.

  Your standing with the townspeople has gone from hostile to friendly.

  Jeremy was soon surrounded by a mob of townspeople grabbing all the coin they could. In the background, he saw adventurer police trying to stop the townspeople while grabbing gold pieces for themselves. He threw gold until the bag was nearly empty, then put the bag with the remainder of the coin over his shoulder and left.

  Even the adventurer police were too busy grabbing gold to pursue him.

  Some bank robber you are, he thought to himself. Once he'd gotten safely away, he looked at his stat sheet.

  Because you threatened to kill a politician. You have received a gray mark.

  Politician Hater!

  Your standing with politicians will remain hostile.

  Because you robbed a bank. You have received a second gray mark.

  Bank-robber!

  Your standing with banks will remain hostile.

  Because of your generous donation to the townspeople of Dungeonville. You have received a silver title.

  Friend of the Community!

  Your standing with the community will remain friendly.

  Weird, Jeremy thought. What did this mean?

  Flint appeared in front of Jeremy and glared at him. “I realize this might be difficult for you to understand, but some beings might consider threatening to kill the rulers of a community, robbing their bank, and then giving the bank's money away to the townspeople to be idiotic behavior.”

  Jeremy pulled a cigarette from his pocket and used the politician's lighter to light it. He inhaled and broke out in a fit of coughing. It took him some time to recover. “What I want to know is why the dungeon coin didn't merge with my coin like it was supposed to?”

  “To make matters worse,” Flint continued, ignoring his question, “the politician you threatened to kill was in the process of giving you a job that was lucrative in experience, dungeon coin, and monster loot.” Flint smacked his DON'T BE AN IDIOT! whiteboard again and again with his cane for emphasis.

  “What are you talking about?” Jeremy glared at Flint. “Mr. May'r just wanted me to kill somebody.”

  “He wanted you to kill the leader of a wealthy neighboring tribe. This assassination would have opened numerous opportunities to obtain experience, wealth, and valuable charmed objects.”

  “Mr. May'r also mentioned that this leader was a being beloved by his people,” Jeremy responded.

  “I'm not sure what that has to do with anything,” Flint said. “You just threw away an opportunity to grow stronger as an adventurer. I want you to reflect on this the next time you're too weak to fight a monster or defend someone you care about.”

  Jeremy wondered if Flint was right. Would it be worth killing a beloved tribal leader to gain a lot of wealth and experience so he might defend decent people in the future? He stubbed out his cigarette and buried his head in his hands. “Go away, Flint.”

  After ignoring Flint until he vanished, Jeremy returned to the police station cellar and turned in for the night. Flint had given him something to think about. Was it okay to kill decent people to gain the strength to protect decent people?

  He didn't know.

  But he was sure he didn't like the politician or the banker and had no desire to work with either.

  The next morning, he noticed one of his eyeteeth was loose. He wiggled it, and it felt like any other baby tooth ready to come out. He wondered how long he'd been in the dungeon. Also, his mostly empty bag of dungeon coins from the bank had merged into one dungeon coin with 511 on it. He merged it with the rest of his dungeon coin. Between 4500 he'd spent to upgrade his bows and the coin he'd gained from killing the monster pigs, he now had a total of 9978.45dc. The bank quest had been a huge disappointment.

  He opened his dungeon book.

  Quest 3.

  Monsters have overrun the town's temple of worship! Kill the monsters infesting the temple so the townspeople can properly worship their gods.

  The reward for completing this quest is....

  Satisfaction of helping your community, experience, monster loot, possible blessing of the god of your choice... and bullets for your gun!

  Do you (and your hopefully many friends) accept this quest?

  Yes/No

  He chose Yes. His gun wasn't much good without bullets. Figured they'd keep bullets in the temple, he thought, remembering the old church song. “Praise the lord and pass the ammunition.”

  Passing the bank, he saw adventurer police looking around, somehow not seeing him, even though he made no attempt to hide.

  A little further on, he spotted a dark, creepy-looking stone building on a hill. He approached carefully, alert for any monster or trap.

  A few screaming pedestrians ran by.