“Hey! You there!” A big man shouted, tossing a bag toward me.

  “Huh…?” I cut off, grabbing a backpack before it belted me in the face. “Who’re you?”

  The man in question was a good head or two taller than me, and a lot broader than me, with brown hair and gray eyes.

  Oh, and he was wearing a full suit of plate armor, which must’ve weighed at least three hundred pounds.

  “You can be our packrat!” He laughed, clapping me on the back.

  I squinted.

  “Aw, don’t give me that face,” he grunted. “We’ve got a five party team and it’s just a quick one-star dungeon. You get a fair split of items and some decent exp, which, by the looks of it, you could use, right?”

  ~Common Item~

  {Packratratpack}

  “A packrat’s rat pack for packing packrat's rats.

  And other stuff too (if you're a boring sort of fellow.)”

  [+7 inventory]

  [-30% draw speed]

  [Weightless I : Item doesn’t take up any inventory]

  “Draw speed?” I glanced up. “Is that how quick you can get things out of your inventory? Or is that related to bows?”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, squirt,” the man said, with a thumbs up. “You won’t be doing any fighting. We just need you to carry our stuff.”

  I blinked.

  “Seriously, who are you?”

  He chuckled. “C’mon, it's cheap exp and a couple good items. I’ll even let you keep the pack if you play nice with it.”

  Evidently this man had to be really, really desperate to pull a guy off the street and send him into a dungeon. Also, if his size and strength were any comparison, then he was probably stronger than myself. It couldn’t hurt to do a guy like that a favor.

  I shrugged the pack onto my shoulder, putting on a smile. “Deal.”

  “Great!” he laughed, slapping me on the shoulder. “HEY GUYS! I FOUND OUR PACKRAT!”

  One of his companions walked on over, clutching his ear. He had a lean build, had a sense of danger around him, kinda like Dexten and Asiel. “Quiet down Bruce. We can hear you just fine.” He glanced at me, frowning. “A level zero? Seriously?”

  “I promised him the pack and a fair split of the treasure,” Bruce stated. “Good, right?”

  “No, not good,” not Bruce muttered. “That pack is mine and I’m going to keep it. He can have some treasure if he pulls his weight, but nothing more than that.” He looked me in the eye, squinting.

  I shrugged. “I don’t really need much more than stats and exp.”

  The second fellow shivered. “You’ve seen death, haven't you?”

  “You’re awfully observant,” I stated.

  “It’s in your eyes, kid, plain as day. I assume it was in a dungeon?”

  I nodded. “Two-star.”

  “Woof,” he groaned. “Okay kid, carry our stuff and take the little guys out and we’ll give you the pack plus a cut of the stats and exp, but no weapons and if we catch you slacking the deal is off, understood?”

  I nodded again. “Where's the rest of the crew?”

  “I’m Irion, the captain of our little party—” he waved to others from the crowd. “and I see you’ve already met Bruce.”

  Bruce grinned.

  “Anyway, we’ve got Quin, and Throttle, our resident nutjobs,” Irion stated, clapping the two on the back. Quin had dusty blue hair and eyes, with a smuggish little smirk, black robes, and two swords strapped across his back. Throttle was dressed about the same, though her hair was considerably longer, black, and up in a bun.

  Irion huffed. “There’s Eere too. She doesn’t talk much.”

  The girl in question held a wand and she wore an awfully frilly dress for dungeon-crawling. When she saw the rest of her party around me, she wandered over.

  Irion cleared his throat. “That’s two assassins and a mage, plus me as archer and Bruce as a tank. You’re the packrat. Stay behind Bruce, but keep close to the four of us.”

  I glanced at his back. Sure enough, he had a slim gray quiver slung over one shoulder. “Are most captains archers?”

  “No more than they are warriors or tanks or mages, I guess,” Irion muttered. “Archers just tend to live longer.”

  Bruce put a meaty hand on my shoulder, smiling wide to the rest of the party. “This is—is—what’s your name again?”

  “—Grind—”

  “---GRIND!” Bruce laughed. “He’s got experience and a good brain. Did I mention I picked him out?”

  “Level zero?” Quin groaned. “He’s gonna be a pain to baby around.”

  “You chose not to invest skills in inventory,” Irion snapped. “This dungeon’s going to be rough, and we’ll need the potions.”

  Quin frowned. “Whatever.” He glanced toward me. “Stay out of my way.”

  “When do we leave?” I asked.

  Irion smirked. “Right now.”

  {Bruce : (+20) 80/600 Exp}

  Bruce huffed, wiping monster blood from a large battle axe, abording the last hints of exp. “How’re you holding up, packrat?”

  I looked up from my little seat at the rock, to the field of dissolving monster corpses.

  “Well enough, I guess.”

  They’d been orks, but not particularly good ones. And yes, that’s orks not orcs. Orcs, as it turns out, are the little baby versions of their full blown ork parents. The ork parents are considerably less nice than their orc children, and as such, I’d been told to hang back.

  Irion sighed, pulling a stay arrow from the ground. “Conserve your supplies. We haven’t even reached the dungeon yet.”

  Quin shrugged, gesturing toward me.

  I summoned a health potion from the pack and tossed it toward him.

  Before he could get it, however, Eere caught it midair and chugged it.

  {Eere : (+10) 25Hp}

  “Gah—HEY!” Quin shouted, storming toward me. “Lay off, you hog!”

  She licked her lips, then smirked, tossing the bottle.

  Quin ground his teeth. “Boy! Throw me another.”

  “We’re the same age,” I muttered, summoning another. Irion grabbed it from my hand, clicking his tongue.

  “I just told you to conserve resources. We’ve got five potions—(he corrected himself glaring at Eere)—four potions, a spare axe, and a minor vial of thrice-concentrated mana.”

  I checked over my supplies. “Make those three potions. Throttle took one a while back.”

  Irion massaged his forehead. “We’re not even in the dungeon!”

  “Well Bruce is supposed to be protecting the three of us,” Quin snapped. “He’s too busy with the zero-rank.”

  Bruce flushed, gripping his warshield. “He’s fragile. One or two hits from the monsters and he’ll die. That’s not a thing that you can heal back.”

  “Five or six hits and I’ll die!” Quin shouted. “I’m already down to eleven Hp! ELEVEN! That does not happen!”

  Bruce started shouting back, soon followed by the rest of the raid, until Irion managed to get everyone calmed down again.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “ENOUGH! The packrat will simply have to hang further back from the rest of the party. Then Bruce can stay closer to the rest of you.”

  “Fine,” Quin huffed.

  Bruce frowned, squinting at me. “But he’s fragile”

  “I can take care of myself,” I said, with a nod. “Really. I’m stronger than I look.”

  He sighed. “Don’t die, kid.”

  “We’re the same age,” I muttered.

  Irion pointed further ahead.

  “The dungeon starts there. One floor with no additional exits, though you can leave through the entrance whenever. I’d estimate how strong the dungeon core is, but anyones who’s seen it is long since dead, so we’re going in blind.”

  “Is it clever?” I asked.

  The rest of the raid party gave me a weird look.

  Irion cleared his throat. “Clever? No.”

  “Who cares?” Quin asked. “If their hide is soft then this’ll be a walk in the park.”

  “Don’t worry Grind,” Irion said, with a sigh. “A one-star Dungeon Core is relatively simple. They won't do much more than hide and defend. The hardest part will just be getting to it.”

  The dungeon entrance was pretty similar to the last one I’d seen, in that it was more or less a gaping hole in a tree that radiated ominous blue light all over the forest.

  “Do birds or deer ever wander into one of these?” I asked, as we stepped through.

  Quin grinned. “If they do, then you wouldn’t be seeing them much longer.”

  Eere kicked him in the shin.

  The dungeon itself wasn’t much of anything special. We arrived in a single large room, with stone and a fine gold trim, but outside of that, halls branched off into different corners of the structure.

  It was certainly imposing, at least for a room, but not in the sense that the architect had to break several laws of physics and nature to make it work.

  I let out a breath of relief.

  “Bruce, tunnel on your left,” Irion ordered, getting his raid party into position. “Grind, hang back, behind me. If one of us calls to you, run to the battle and hand them a potion—but don’t throw it. If one of these breaks we’ll be down ten Hp, and that could be a matter of life or death.”

  Health potions.

  They’re funny things. Broken bones? Jaw? Ribs? Were you set on fire just a couple minutes ago?

  Guzzle a health potion and recover ten health, along with the ten health worth of physical damage. It would've been nice to have a couple before we went to the two-star dungeon.

  In addition, the right potion can do most anything. Strength, agility, durability, invisibility—

  I’d have to make a note of that. Potions are handy.

  Screams came from up ahead.

  “GRIND!” Quin shouted, ducking under a skeleton’s blade. “GRIND GET OFF YOUR REAR YOU MORON!”

  “Got it!” I chirped, jumping over Bruce and handing him a potion. “Irion, that’s two health potions left—”

  Bruce winced, grabbing his side, where he’d been hit by an axe. I already had a potion out and ready. When he saw me, he shoved it away, focusing back on the rest of his party. “We need more power!”

  Throttle grabbed me by the neck, ripping the potion from my hand, popping the stopper and downing the entire thing in one go. She licked her lips and tossed me to the floor. “That’s one potion left!”

  Irion groaned. “Fight smarter! Let me and Eere whittle them down before you go charging in—”

  Quin charged forward, finishing off the last remaining skeletons, and the one ork that’d been with them.

  {Quin : (+30) 423/400 Exp}

  ~

  {LEVEL UP!}

  ~

  {Quin : 3/400 Exp}

  “Hey!” Bruce whined, ramming his shield into the ground. “Leave some for the rest of us!”

  “You snooze, you lose,” Quin laughed.

  “ENOUGH!” Irion shouted. “You’re all acting like children! You rush into the fight as fast as you can and hog as much of the exp as you can get your grubby little hands on!”

  Throttle shrugged, a heaping pile of Exp orbs in her arms. “How else wouldya get stronger?”

  “TEAMWORK!” Irion screamed. “That’s the whole reason Exp orbs can be given and moved around. They ought to be divided up and split over the team. That way we all get stronger!”

  “You expect us to share exp with the wimp and mage?” Quin sneered, jabbing a finger at Eere. “She hasn’t cast a single ability this entire fight. Besides, she joined last week.”

  “She’s saving mana,” Irion grumbled. “Or did you forget that this is the first room of the first floor?” He glanced at me, groaning. “Grind, do you mind giving up that potion of exp I promised. I’ll pay you back in stats, but we’ve got to last that long first.”

  I shrugged. “It's the stats I want.”

  “Thanks,” Irion said with a nod. “Nice potion giving. You’re fast and reliable. Good work.”

  “I still think you’re getting paid too much,” Quin mumbled, and Throttle nodded with him.

  “I could fight too, if you’d let me,” I said, pulling Crashovler from my inventory, a process that took noticeably longer than usual, as if he’d been heavier.

  Quin paled. “Just because you’re weak doesn't mean I want you dead, jerk.”

  Irion sighed, massaging his forehead. “This is going to be a long dungeon.”

  Thankfully, After the first room, things started to get a little better. Bruce took most of the hits, but he had a shield and a point in durability, so he didn’t lose much more than five or six hit points. Eere got nicked by an arrow, and she lost a point of health, and she got hit again during the next room after trying to cast a fireball, but both hits were relatively minor, so the party moved forward without issue.

  “AW YEAH!” Quin shouted, startling the rest of the party.

  “What?—what?” Irion asked, bow drawn.

  Quin was in the room, with the rest of the party soon after him. And in that room, there were three small chests, each with a golden seal.

  Throttle cackled. “Treasure, huh?”

  “Please. Restrain yourselfs.” Irion sighed. “We’d do best to avoid drawing attention.”

  There were a couple potions in the first chest, one loaded with mana and the other a full regen, both I saved for emergencies. The second chest had a new battle axe, which Bruce immediately took, to go with his warshield. The third was filled and overflowing with stats. Red, green, even blue, yellow and a couple grey. The orbs were little bigger than an orange or apple, or perhaps a remarkably round turnip, but even they’d probably have a decent amount of power.

  Before anyone grabbed anything, Irion grabbed an orb of each color and handed them to me. “Good work, squirt.”

  Throttle groaned. “Seriously—”

  “Ignore her,” Irion snapped, pressing them into my hands. “You earned these.”

  {STATS UP!}

  [(+5) 38 Hp (+1) 27 Str]

  [(+10%) 10% AtkSp (+1) 1 Mana (+1) 1 Dur]

  Quin scoffed, checking the notification. “That’s all you’ve got? Eleven Hp? One Strength? How’ve you even survived this long?”

  Bruce scowled, shoving him back. “Squirt’s doing fine.”

  I checked my stats again. “Eleven?”

  {GRIND}

  Level 0

  Rank "Common"

  [ 38 Hp 27 Str]

  [ 10% AtkSp 1 Mana 1 Dur]

  Irion checked toward my floating plate. “Is something wrong?”

  “What do you see?” I asked.

  He didn’t blink. “Your name, level, rank and Eleven hp, why do you ask?”

  Even though I was stronger, the stats from my last lives weren’t showing. Was that a visual bug?

  I frowned, but didn’t press the issue. Realistically speaking, I’d have to look into it after the dungeon.

  The rest of the dungeon was relatively easy, once our two assassins stopped blindingly rushing into danger. Still, there were a flock of mages who did a number on Bruce, and he downed our last potion.

  Finally, we reached a massive gold and silver door.

  Irion talked in low tones with Bruce and Eere, before walking over to me. “Hey Grind, we’re almost at the core’s throne. Do you understand what that means?”

  I nodded.

  Irion huffed. “Listen, Eere’s been sensing a lot more power in this dungeon than there ought to be. It’s possible that the Core might have grown stronger since some of the last few raids.”

  I nodded again. “I’ll be good.”

  “Grind, what I’m trying to say is that you can’t go in there,” he said. “It’s a small room and we won’t be able to keep you safe, so you're going to stay here.”

  “But—”

  “Stay back Grind. That’s an order from the captain.” He held a hand outstretched. “We’ve freed up our inventory a little, so we can take those potions. You just have to sit here and wait for us. Eere thinks we've killed all the monsters here, so you shouldn’t run into any trouble.”

  I handed the two bottles over, sighing under my breath. “Don’t die.”

  “We’ve handled dungeons like this before,” he said, with a smile. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

  Bruce and Irion waved goodbye, and then the door closed and they were gone.

  I slumped down on the ground.

  So far, I haven't really done much of anything. It wasn’t so bad that I regretted joining— the loot was pretty nice—but it felt wrong to hang back, when I could be helping out. The members of the party were strong, sure, but they couldn’t be that much stronger than me.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head against the door.

  The dungeon shook, and their fight began.

  Soon they started shouting, issuing orders to one another as they fought, followed by the whine of metal and cracking rock.

  For a long while, the sound of battle was constant.

  I grew bored, pushing up to my feet and wandering around in a circle. Then I sat back down. Eventually, I just took a nap.

  Sometime later my eyes snapped open, and I was awake.

  I was awake to the sound of silence.

  I was awake to the sound of silence—-

  Then I was up, stumbling toward the golden door.

  “Guys?” I asked, knocking hard. “Did you win?”

  The voice was quiet, and muffled, but clear.

  “GRIND! GET OUT OF HERE!” Quin shouted. His voice was raspy, and weathered.

  “Finally, some action,” I said, smirking to myself, grabbing the door handles.

  The metal groaned, but it stayed locked in place, so I wrenched one arm around the handles and the door shuddered, soft metal distorting, until I formed a handful between the two doors.

  I held on, planting my feet on either side of the doors, and pulled.

  With a final shudder, the lock snapped, and the metal doors flung open.