The three beings stared at each other in the temple's back room.

  Flint let out a loud groan and put his head in his hands.

  “I assure you, Jeremy, there's no deception in the task or the rewards as far as this set of quests,” Banxi responded.

  “Fine,” Jeremy said. “But let's assume I took your quest and got the rewards. With titles like 'Friend of the Politician' and 'Friend of the Banker,' every politician and banker in my world who wants something stolen, or someone killed, would seek me out.”

  “Of course,” Banxi said. “Adventurers who take this set of quests and survive to leave the dungeon quickly rise to positions of wealth and power in their home worlds.”

  “I don't want wealth and power!” Jeremy shouted. “I want to be strong!”

  “Then you might want to refuse this set of quests,” Banxi said. “There was an adventurer who took these quests and went on to become a wealthy, powerful being. But we learned that years later, after leaving this dungeon, he took his own life because he was haunted by the faces of the many people he'd killed and couldn't live with what he'd become. Does doing evil damage your soul? And if so, can you be strong if your soul is damaged? The dungeon has been wrestling with these questions for thousands of years.”

  “This line of reasoning seems silly,” Flint said. “Doing bad things to get strong does not make you a bad person, and certainly wouldn't damage your soul.”

  “I'm pretty sure doing bad things to get strong does make you a bad person,” Jeremy said. He selected No.

  There was silence.

  Banxi tossed Jeremy a small object. “Be that as it may. I can give you an Adventurer-With-a-Conscience consolation prize. Your first spatial storage ring.”

  Jeremy slipped the ring on his index finger, where it fit perfectly.

  “It is a very small storage ring, but it will hold your dungeon coin, water bottle, and a few meal bars.”

  Curious, Jeremy pulled a meal bar from his pack and, after concentrating for a bit, slipped it and the water bottle into his storage ring. By focusing on the ring, he could tell they took up most of the ring's storage space.

  ***

  “As I was about to say before Flint interrupted me, you've completed this part of the dungeon. You are the first to do so in quite some time. But there are a few minor details, like you threatening to kill a politician and robbing a bank. This behavior is unsuitable for an adventurer.”

  “The bank robbed me first,” Jeremy protested. “And the politician wanted me to kill someone who'd done nothing wrong.”

  Banxi folded his arms across his chest. “It's the bank's job to rob its citizens, and the politician's job to help the bank rob its citizens, and try to convince you to kill those the government dislikes. It is your duty as a good citizen to go along with this.”

  “Well,” Jeremy said, thinking this over. This was not how they'd explained things to him in his fifth-grade civics class. “If that's the case, maybe I don't want to be a good citizen. The banks shouldn't rob people, and the politicians shouldn't be trying to get me to kill people who've done nothing wrong.” Then, as an afterthought. “The dungeon doesn't outright forbid robbing the bank or threatening the politician, so those tasks must also be part of the quest.”

  “One of the quest's options, I suppose,” Banxi said, stroking his beard. “Adventurers must learn that actions have consequences.”

  “Sure.”

  “Be that as it may, if you don't take immediate steps to correct this situation, the gray marks you've received will become permanent and remain with you for the rest of your life.”

  “What do those marks mean?” Jeremy asked. “They showed up on my stat sheet after I robbed a bank, but what do they do?”

  “Excellent question, Jeremy. Marks and titles are the dungeon's way of passing judgment on adventurers. Your two gray marks, 'Bank Robber' and 'Politician Hater,' ensure that your interactions with banks or politicians in the future will be met with hostility.” Banxi drew himself up and smiled. “Your silver title, however, 'Friend of the Community,' is much more positive. Thanks to your generous donation to the people of Dungeonville, you should find that the communities you interact with view you positively. Should you ever meet a citizen who dislikes banks and/or politicians, your gray marks might even be seen as a positive, increasing the effect of the silver title. You should also know,” Banxi continued, “that your gray marks will make it very difficult for you to become a politician or own a bank in the future. If you want to remove your gray marks, it's not too late for you to return the money to the bank, the lighter, and cigarettes to the politician, and apologize profusely to both of them.”

  “Sure,” Jeremy said, not listening. It seemed the gray marks were no big deal. “What about black marks? Like the one on Rampage?”

  Banxi grimaced. “A black mark is the worst mark a dungeon can bestow. You lose charisma and spend the rest of your life surrounded by an aura of fear. A black mark is permanent and will mute the effect of any other marks a dungeon can bestow. What's sadder still is that some adventurers consider a black mark to be a badge of honor and will go out of their way to obtain one.”

  “But there's a reward for killing someone with a black mark?” Jeremy asked.

  “Of course. Killing someone with a black mark will get you a silver or gold title, depending on the circumstances. A gold mark is the best title the dungeon can bestow, and if you obtain one, all will know of your heroism.”

  “Good.” Jeremy put one of the politician's cigarettes in his mouth and lit it with the politician's silver lighter, feeling like a big shot. Arkys's ice shard started to hurt. He rubbed his chest absently. “Let's talk business.”

  “You do know smoking is bad for you?” Banxi asked.

  Jeremy inhaled and started coughing. He got a poison notification, but a small one. “When I robbed the bank,” he wheezed, “why didn't the dungeon coin go into my account?”

  “The dungeon coin should have gone into your account immediately, but occasionally it takes time. You have to be patient.”

  Jeremy snorted. “Easy to say when people aren't trying to kill you. I have a list of things I want, but first, how much can I get for this long, heavy, charmed spear?”

  “I can give you 100dc for the spear.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “You gave me 5000 for Clown Lord's axe!” Jeremy protested.

  “The value of dungeon items tends to fluctuate, Jeremy. The price is the price. But to show I'm a reasonable being, I will raise the price to 50dc.”

  “You just lowered your price!” Jeremy shouted. What was up with this stupid dungeon?

  “The price is the price, Jeremy. I think 20dc is a reasonable price for this spear, but if you don't want to sell it, then you don't have to.”

  “I won't then.” There had to be something he could do with it. And if he had to leave the spear behind, it was worth 20 dungeon coin, so who cared?

  He inhaled some more cigarette smoke and only coughed a little this time. He was getting the hang of smoking, like movie stars in the old westerns Mom enjoyed watching.

  “More importantly, I need more bullets for this gun.” He pulled out his gun and showed it to Banxi.

  Banxi picked up Jeremy's gun and examined it. “Oooh. Impressive gun.”

  Jeremy held out the two bullets he'd found in the temple. “I need more of these.”

  Banxi examined the bullets, shaking his head. “These bullets were made by a skilled gnome craftsman and are of very high quality. If I had them in stock, they would cost 10,000dc apiece.”

  “That's ridiculous. They're just bullets,” Jeremy protested.

  Banxi hmmphed. “I don't know how things are done where you're from, but here in the real universe, bullets of this quality require mana, expensive materials, time, and a skilled craftsman to make. Since gnomes are the only race that makes guns and gun accessories, neither guns nor bullets are easy to come by. I will keep you in mind in case I acquire any such bullets in the future, but at this time, I have none. However, if you were to sell me your gun and the two bullets, I would give you 30,000dc.”

  “No thanks,” Jeremy said, taking another drag on his cigarette. If his gun and bullets were worth that much, they must be good for something. “I don't suppose you could tell me how to use the gun?”

  “The dungeon does not provide weapons training. You will have to figure that out on your own. You should also know that smoking cigarettes will accelerate the speed with which you lose strength, endurance, and vitality, without the benefit of raising your poison resistance.”

  Jeremy put out his cigarette. “I'd also like climbing gear, a rope with a claw at the end of it that I can use to climb walls and stuff like that. And I want items I can use to create fires with to throw at monsters.” He had a cigarette lighter, but the only thing he'd found that would burn was his notebook paper, and he needed that for writing on.

  “I see,” Banxi said. “Fire tends to be destructive, and not necessarily to the monsters. We discourage its casual use. For climbing, I think what you need is a charmed rope.” Banxi pulled a coil of narrow gold-colored rope from nowhere and dropped it onto the temple floor. “This rope extends fifty feet, and if you throw it, the end will grab onto any surface you throw it at, letting you climb or descend. It will then release again when you will it to. Only 5,000dc.”

  “Really? Can I try it?” Jeremy asked, picking up the rope and tossing the end at the temple ceiling. The rope flew out, and the end stuck to the ceiling. Jeremy casually climbed the rope, hand over hand, marveling at how easy it was. No way could he have done this pre-dungeon. “I'll take the rope, another hundred high grade dungeon rations, and ten arrows to replace the ones I used up.”

  “Very good, Jeremy.” The items he'd requested appeared in a pile on the floor, and the money left his account. The rope was 5,000, the food bars were 500, and the arrows were 500. So 6,000dc vanished from his account, leaving him with 5515.34dc.

  “Now Jeremy. You've completed your quests and refused the optional side quests, so your time in Dungeonville is at an end. If you don't leave, you will be forcibly evicted.”

  “What about the orcs?” Jeremy asked.

  “I'm not supposed to tell you this, but that group of adventurers has already left for the next floor of the dungeon."

  ***

  Though he'd been evicted from Dungeonville, the dungeon didn't seem to mind him camping out in a dungeon school classroom.

  Jeremy intended to return to the labyrinth, but after a brief bout of mana sickness brought on by days of fighting monsters, he decided to spend time in the school recuperating and training before he did so.

  When he asked Book about his dungeon puzzles, he got:

  Puzzles are the dungeon's way of increasing the intelligence and dexterity of young adventurers. Each puzzle has a prize. The harder the puzzle, the more valuable the prize. If a puzzle is too hard for you to solve on your own, perhaps you can ask one of your many friends to help.

  ***

  If harder puzzles gave more valuable prizes, Jeremy thought, closing Book, the prizes in the five puzzles he'd received must be extremely valuable. That or he was terrible at puzzles, because he could make neither head nor tail of them.

  ***

  “Okay, Flint. Time for your workout,” Jeremy said, unwrapping spider silk from his wrist, holding it out so it floated in the air. Box chirped, happy to be in the presence of an adventurer with arms, not caring that Jeremy was using it for a chair.

  Flint reached out. His hand seemed to touch the silk and make it wobble before his hand slid through it. “As I've been saying, I can only access your soul's power when you're agitated.” Flint looked at a spot behind Jeremy. “Is that Mezirma?”

  “That stopped working after the fifth time you tried it,” Jeremy said. “And we both know he's probably left the dungeon by now.”

  “If you want me to move that thread, you need to force yourself to become frightened."

  “Okay, okay. I'll think of something scary.” Jeremy forced himself to remember his second night in the Children's Dungeon, when he'd barely escaped Mezirma's group with his life, and then gotten captured by Clown Lord.

  Flint took advantage of Jeremy's stress to tie the silk in a knot.

  Jeremy sighed. “Good work.”

  “Very good, Jeremy, but you must remember your sacred birthright as the chosen one. If I damage your soul, it would be disastrous for my... I mean, our sacred mission to save the universe.”

  “Sure.”

  Jeremy moved on to his physical training regimen.

  ***

  Over the next few days, Jeremy spent hours studying Box's new pictures. He thought he had figured out the right hole to put his arm through, but he wasn't sure enough to take the risk.

  “What do you think, Flint?” Jeremy asked. “I know the third square looks like the right one, but it's an obvious trap, so you think this one?” He pointed at the second square.

  “I think you need to quit risking your arm for petty trinkets,” Flint responded.

  With a sigh, Jeremy was forced to agree.

  His tooth came out, but his hope that there might be a dungeon tooth fairy turned out for naught. The dungeon absorbed his tooth and gave him nothing in return.

  ***

  After spending a few days doing what he could to strengthen himself and prepare, he pushed the door to the labyrinth just a crack before backing up and waiting. A minute later, a rat the size of a pony pushed its head through the door. It had four eyes and strangely flexible whiskers, but as far as Jeremy was concerned, it was a rat.

  Jeremy put an arrow through its head, waited for the dungeon to claim its body. Then approached the door again and reclaimed his arrow.

  Jeremy looked out. “Okay, Flint, it's an obvious trap, but what kind of trap?”

  “Banxi said the orcs had left this floor of the dungeon, and I do not think the dungeon would lie about that,” Flint said.

  “Sure. So what's that?” Jeremy pointed to the suspicious pile of dungeon food bars.

  “I'm afraid I don't know. My senses cannot detect an ambush. Why don't you poke it with your spear and see what happens.”

  Jeremy poked his long spear through the opening and poked the pile of dungeon food bars.

  Nothing happened.

  He poked them again, then said the hell with it, pushed the door all the way open, and entered the labyrinth. On top of the pile of dungeon rations sat Jeremy's gold mana collection charm that the orcs had stolen and he'd thought he'd never see again. Smacking a dungeon bat out of the way with his hand, he picked up his pendant and put it on. A familiar feeling of warmth entered his body. Then he smelled something he thought he'd never smell in the dungeon.

  Bacon.