Morning came quickly, bright and crisp. The party packed up with an unspoken eagerness, not to escape the camp, but because returning home after a hard-won victory carried its own thrill. Around them, other groups were doing the same, laughter and light banter drifting through the clearing. The mood was a stark contrast to the tense, weary atmosphere of a week earlier.

  The journey through the forest felt almost peaceful. The oppressive heaviness that had once clung to the woods was gone, as though the trees themselves were relieved the dungeon had stopped bleeding mana. The air was lighter, fresher; even the shadows seemed less eager to move.

  The only traces of goblins were the fading scars of their presence, a broken spear half-swallowed by mud, a discarded scrap of hide, a trail long gone cold.

  "No attacks, no ambushes…" Brett said after an hour, hands behind his head as he walked. "Think they all bailed?"

  "Not all," Ronald replied from up ahead. "Some will regroup farther out. The guard patrols will be busy for a while. But the real threat's dealt with. Plug the source and the rest becomes manageable."

  Josh nodded. "Feels good, though. Like we actually changed something."

  Ronald didn’t slow, but his tone softened. "You did."

  Their pace was quicker than the trek out. Stronger bodies, sharper reflexes, higher stats, the difference was undeniable. Slopes that once stole their breath now passed beneath their boots with barely a shrug.

  By midday, rooftops appeared through the treeline. Thin curls of smoke drifted lazily above Ashenfall, and the familiar scent of hearthfires and worked wood settled warmly in their chests.

  Home. Or something very close to it.

  They crossed the fields, followed the dirt path over the creek, and soon stood before the wooden front of the Adventurers Guild.

  Mich was already outside, arms crossed, grin wide.

  "There they are!" she called. "Our dungeon heroes."

  Bhel puffed out his chest dramatically. "Please, hold yer applause. Or don’t. I can accept both."

  Mich snorted and gave him a playful smack on the shoulder. "Good to see you all alive and mostly intact."

  As more adventurers filtered in behind them, Ronald stepped forward, greeting Mich before turning to the assembled groups. One by one, he offered each party a handshake, a quiet thanks, or a firm clap on the shoulder.

  "You’ve done good work," he said, voice carrying across the entrance hall. "All of you. I’m proud of every one of you."

  Coming from most people, it would’ve been a pleasant compliment. Coming from Ronald though, a man who rationed praise like it was wartime grain, it felt like receiving a medal.

  Caistina leaned casually against a support beam, smirking at Josh’s group. "Look at you lot. Real adventurers now. Level thirteen and still upright. Try not to let it get to your heads."

  Bheldur raised both hands. "Absolutely no guarantees."

  Josh could feel the grin stretching across his face. They were exhausted, dusty, and one solid bath away from being allowed indoors anywhere respectable.

  But they were proud.

  As the excitement settled, the party stepped through the guild doors and into the warm bustle of the hall. The place was alive with noise, clattering boots, raised voices, the scrape of chairs, and the constant shuffle of adventurers moving in and out. Word of the dungeon’s stabilisation had travelled fast, and Ashenfall’s guild was busier than Josh had ever seen it.

  Groups that had been away for days or weeks were drifting back in. One table held a trio of higher?level fighters who’d braved the undead cave; their armour was charred and dented, their expressions drawn but proud. Another group, a pair of beastkin and a human mage, had apparently returned from a long trek to the coastal foothills, swapping stories loudly about a wyvern that “was totally bigger than the quest had said.”

  The smell of roasted meat and pipe smoke hung in the air. Laughter rose from a nearby table where two dwarves compared scars. Someone in the back corner was insisting he had not cried when a slime ate his boot, he had in fact, had grit in his eye.

  Josh’s party slipped into the flow easily, greeted with nods, cheers, or curious glances. Bheldur found himself locked in a flex?off with a burly axe?fighter, while Brett traded exaggerated tales with a group of returning scouts. Carcan ended up in a discussion about monster ecology with a druid who looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

  After a good while of chatter, boasting, and far too many interruptions, Josh nudged the others toward the front counter. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s hand everything in before Ronald drags us back outside.”

  Mich stood ready as they approached, brows lifting as she saw the sacks they carried. One by one, they unloaded their haul: several hundred goblin ears, a tidy pile of ork teeth, several small jar packed full of troll eyes, plus the mixed coins they’d taken from the dungeon chest.

  Mich blinked. “That… is a lot.”

  “Productive couple of weeks,” Brett said lightly.

  “Evidently so.” She shook her head in disbelief before reaching under the counter. “Well, I’ve got something for all of you. Since this was undertaken at the guild’s request and tied to a major threat, you qualify for the quest bonus.”

  She placed five large coin bags on the desk, one for each of them. The heavy thump each made turned a few heads nearby.

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  Carcan glanced at hers, wide?eyed. “This must be a mistake.”

  “No mistake,” Mich said, grinning. “Dangerous work brings dangerous pay. And from what I’ve heard, you earned every coin.”

  Josh lifted his bag, feeling the weight of it pull at his arm. It was easily the most money he’d held in either world.

  “Holy… stars,” Brett whispered as he peeked inside his own. “I suddenly understand why people become adventurers.”

  Bheldur gave a low whistle. “Drinks are on me tonight I guess.”

  Josh didn’t say anything, just felt the warmth of pride settle in his chest. Their first real mission. Their first real success.

  And a reward heavy enough to make it undeniable.

  They turned away from Mich as she started to cart away their loot, not bothering to count it, knowing that the coin pouches she’d given them would more than cover it, heading back to their table and had to decide what their future plans would be. As it was only midday and spirits were still high, the party decided there was no sense wasting the rest of the sunlight. Shopping was the obvious answer, especially now that they were all heavier by a very satisfying amount of coin.

  The party split up, Josh led Bheldur down the road toward the weapon and armour shops he’d discovered on an earlier outing. The dwarf listened with polite patience at first, then with growing enthusiasm as Josh described racks of blades, reinforced leather sets, and different sets of armour he’d had his eyes on.

  Brett, meanwhile, was busy coaxing Carcan toward the potion shop he’d fallen in love with. “They’ve got everything,” he insisted. “All neatly organised. Colour-coded. It’s beautiful.”

  Carcan smiled. “Very well. If you accompany me to the magic store afterwards, I will help you choose proper spell components. You keep buying the wrong things.”

  “One time,” Brett muttered. “I bought the wrong thing one time."

  The party split, each disappearing into the bustling market streets of Ashenfall.

  —

  A few hours later, they regrouped outside the guild, almost unrecognisable.

  Bheldur sported a new set of battleaxes with knotwork engraved along the edge, the metal gleaming bright enough to catch the afternoon sun. His old armour had been replaced by sturdier dwarven-forged scales, the leather reinforced with thick steel bands.

  Brett practically jingled with potion bottles, each one neatly stored in a belt of custom-fitted loops. He also had a small pouch of magical reagents, which he held with great pride.

  Carcan’s new robes were a deep forest green, trimmed with silver thread that shimmered whenever mana brushed against it. A new spellbook hung at her hip, carefully sealed, the leather pristine.

  Perberos wore flexible dark leathers suited for mobility, the seams reinforced, and a pair of new daggers strapped across his chest.

  Josh, however, was the one everyone stared at.

  He wore his new plate, bright, polished. He’d replaced parts of his other armour, exchanging leather for steel. Underneath it all though, he now wore a layer of chainmail that had not been there before, offering extra protection to his limbs. It fit him well and sat comfortably across his shoulders. Mostly.

  “So,” Brett said slowly, trying not to grin, “you finally went with the chain mail.”

  Josh sighed dramatically. “Yes. And no one warned me about the liner thing. Do you know how many times chest hair can get caught in chain links? Because I do now. I know exactly."

  Bheldur burst out laughing, nearly dropping his axe. “Lad, it’s called a gambeson. Everybody knows you wear one under chain.”

  “Well, I didn’t!” Josh said defensively. “I just thought people wore them because they’re comfortable. Not because armour is a chest-hair-harvesting device."

  Even Carcan’s lips twitched. “At least you learned before battle.”

  Josh threw his arms up. “Yes, thank the gods. Imagine dying not from goblins but from my own armour pulling out half of me.”

  The party’s laughter echoed warmly across the street as they admired each other’s purchases.

  As the others continued comparing purchases and boasting about whose new gear looked the most impressive, Brett drifted toward Josh with a hesitant sort of shuffle. The kind that meant he had something to say, but wasn’t sure how to start.

  "Erm," Brett said, scratching the back of his head, "how much cash do you have left?"

  Josh grinned like he knew exactly where this was going. He pulled out a small pouch, noticeably lighter than it had been that morning and dropped it into Brett’s palm. "Don’t worry. I kept enough to pay off what I owed you. See? Responsible adult behaviour."

  Brett snorted. "Please. If you were responsible, you wouldn’t have spent two gold on that ridiculous wolf-themed cloak."

  "It’s a good cloak," Josh said defensively. "The wolf fur makes me look imposing. And it’s super soft. And warm."

  "It makes you look like you’re about to star in a theatre production," Brett shot back, but the grin spreading across his face softened the jab. He nudged the coin pouch back into Josh’s hand. "And I wasn’t calling in the debt, you idiot. I was going to say we need to buy clothes."

  Josh blinked. "Clothes? We’ve got clothes."

  Brett pointed down.

  Josh followed the gesture, and winced. His trousers, once jeans, were now so battered they barely qualified as fabric. The hems were shredded. The knee had a tear so large it was practically an extra pocket. And his shirt, which had started as a perfectly respectable T-shirt, was frayed enough to make him look like an apprentice bandit… plus there were enough sword slashes and poke holes, to make it look more like mesh.

  "Earth clothes aren’t meant to survive trolls," Brett said simply. "Or dungeon humidity. Or goblin blood. Also, everyone keeps staring at us like we’ve escaped from a travelling circus." Brett leaned forward to sniff at Josh, recoiling quickly, “Plus, we stink. We could get away with it in the dungeon due to the lack of real facilities, but now…” He shrugged, pulling a face as he sniffed himself to prove the point.

  Josh groaned loudly into his hands. "Great. That’s great. And I definitely don’t have enough left for clothes. Not after the…" He hesitated. "The cloak." He winced.

  Brett rolled his eyes and shoved the pouch back against Josh’s chest. "Relax. I wasn’t asking you to pay. I’m saying we need to buy clothes. As in, right now. Before your shirt disintegrates and we get banned from public areas for indecency."

  Josh lowered the pouch slowly. "So I’m not broke and shirtless?"

  "Not today," Brett said dryly.

  They turned back to the others, who were still mid-discussion, Bheldur arguing about axe balance with Perberos, Carcan quietly inspecting a new satchel.

  "We need one more thing," Josh announced.

  Bheldur looked up. "Let me guess. More wolf accessories?"

  "Clothes," Brett said. "Actual clothes. Preferably ones not in a bargain bin, but who knows with what we’ve got left."

  Carcan nodded immediately. "A wise idea. Proper attire can make a difference. Also… those outfits do look fragile."

  Perberos tilted his head. "I assumed the holes were intentional. A fashion statement."

  "They were not," Josh said quickly.

  Brett clapped his hands together. "Right, come on then. Clothing first, arguing later. If Josh bends over too fast, we’re all going to witness something traumatic."

  Josh groaned again but he was smiling as they headed toward the tailor’s district, coin pouch safely in hand.

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  Good. Author happy. Chapter continue. Orcs die.

  ... writing that made me regret not making Josh a barbarian.