Jeremy lay on the grass in the last safe room on the third floor of the dungeon, trying unsuccessfully to relax. For whatever reason, the dungeon hadn't bothered him during his three-day bout of mana sickness.

  Because the safe room had been uninhabited when Jeremy entered, it now resembled a park in Jeremy's city.

  Resting on his cloak, staring at the fake dungeon sky, he heard illusionary birds and felt the fake sun on his face. The park was empty. Not that Jeremy missed the older kids who always seemed to show up whenever he came to the park, wanting to use Jeremy's stuff, and either steal or break it.

  Since Jeremy had recently turned twelve, it meant he'd been in the dungeon for over one year and nine months. And he wasn't even halfway through the dungeon. How many years would it take for him to escape this place? And what would Earth be like when he got back?

  “You, Jeremy, are very hard on your clothes,” Banxi said from behind him.

  “I get that a lot,” Jeremy said, looking over his repaired clown suit. “Is Boggan coming? If you see him, tell him I didn't die in that section of the dungeon like he said I would.”

  “I believe he said your survival was extremely unlikely,” Banxi responded, “and indeed, your continued survival in this dungeon is nothing short of miraculous.”

  “'Miraculous' is an understatement,” Flint said from where he was sulking nearby.

  “It wasn't that miraculous,” Jeremy responded.

  “Squeak?” Squeak seemed dubious.

  Flint snorted. “You see what I have to put up with? If you ever change your mind about freeing me from Jeremy and letting me out of this dungeon, do not hesitate to let me know."

  “You know the dungeon can't do that, Flint,” Banxi responded. “I am, however, glad to see the three of you are still alive.”

  Flint glared at Banxi. Holding an unsheathed noncorporeal sword, it was clear he wished he could use it on the dungeon being. “Perhaps you could tell us the real reason Boggan offered to free us from this dungeon. I'm certain it wasn't the kindness of your nonexistent dungeon hearts.”

  Banxi sighed and looked sadly at Jeremy. “The dungeon has many reasons for what it does. If Jeremy had taken our offer and left the dungeon, he would have become a hero among his kind. A beloved rogue protecting his community from criminals and monsters alike. He would, if he'd wished, have found a mate and likely had children. And he would have died a happy old man surrounded by a loving family, and his death would have been mourned by many.”

  Jeremy kicked at Banxi, knowing his foot would go through the dungeon being. “If I'd taken your offer, I'd have been weak! I don't want to be beloved in some stupid community! I want to be strong!”

  Banxi sighed. “There's an ancient saying, Jeremy. Be careful what you wish for. The path to strength is long, dark, and treacherous. Since the offer to free you from the dungeon was based on your not killing the two third-floor bosses, the offer no longer exists.”

  “That breaks my heart,” Jeremy said. “And I thought I told you guys to stay away!” The last was aimed at the four gnomes at the safe room entrance.

  “We're not going to fight you in a safe room,” Fizzlepuff said, limping toward them using a crutch to keep himself upright. He and the other gnomes had clearly seen better days, still recovering from Jeremy's electric attack. “We wanted to speak to Banxi.”

  “Before you ask,” Banxi responded. “Jeremy received the gun in question as a quest reward. If you steal it from him, your party will receive thief marks; if you had killed Jeremy, your party would have been black marked.”

  “We had no choice,” Fizzlepuff said. “Surely you know how many beings that gun could kill if it gets in the wrong hands. You must have some idea how Cleansing Wind would use it.”

  “Dungeons do not take sides in these conflicts,” Banxi said. “But you can take comfort in the likelihood that Jeremy surviving long enough to leave the dungeon with the gun is so infinitesimally small, I wouldn't consider it a possibility, and should he die in the dungeon, the gun returns to the dungeon.”

  The four gnomes looked visibly relieved.

  “It's not that small of a chance,” Jeremy said.

  There was no response from anyone.

  “There is one more thing.” Banxi looked up at Jeremy. “Other adventurers have been talking about you. They've been saying you are not a human.”

  “Are you referring to the goblins?” Jeremy asked. “It's not my fault they're crazy.”

  “The goblins are only one of the adventurer groups that think you are strange for a human, or not a human at all. Pretty much every adventurer group that has met you wonders if the dungeon made a mistake in your race.” Banxi looked reproachfully up at Jeremy. “Tell me, Jeremy, have you tried to be a human?”

  “I didn't think I needed to try to be a human, because I am one. And what about the gnomes? They think I'm human, don't they?”

  “Well, actually...” Banxi said.

  Jeremy looked at the gnomes.

  “Don't look at us,” Fekfuff said. “I said you were strange for a human. I didn't say you weren't one, and my comrades agreed.”

  “I've known many gnomes I wouldn't want to be in the same room with,” Fizzlepuff added, “but I'd never suggest they weren't gnomes.”

  Banxi drew himself to his full three feet of height. “You are either an extremely aberrant version of your species, or the dungeon has made a mistake.”

  “And I care about this, because...?” Jeremy asked.

  “It is something the dungeon must ponder,” Banxi said.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Well, if you're finished,” Jeremy said, “there is a matter I wish to speak to you about. In private.” He looked pointedly at the gnomes.

  “Let us know if you change your mind about the Piff Snizzle,” Fizzlepuff said to Jeremy before the four gnomes limped away.

  ***

  Jeremy pulled out his six dungeon stars, one from the second floor and five from the third. “I want the mana-enhanced attack/defense skill Fighters get when they arrive in this dungeon, or something similar, and the mana channeling skill the Spellcasters get would be nice too.”

  Banxi seemed to think. “For mana-enhanced attack/defense, we could make you a Fighter. You would lose a few levels, and it wouldn't cost you a thing. We could make you a Fighter/Rogue, and you would lose over half your levels. This also wouldn't cost you a thing. We could even make you a Fighter/Rogue/Spellcaster, and you would lose almost all your levels, and it wouldn't cost you a thing.”

  “I want mana-enhanced attack/defense, as a Rogue, with no penalties.”

  Banxi shook his head. “That is not possible. Characters are fundamental dungeon archetypes. The Rogue is fast and sneaky. The Fighter is strong, able to take and inflict large amounts of damage, while the Spellcaster is skilled in magic. The dungeon can do nothing to alter this. At higher levels, you will gain spells to increase the effectiveness of your attacks. A Rogue Ranger or Assassin has critical strike skills that make any successful sneak attack far more lethal. You may get death touch, life drain, or shadow strike, any of which would make you a much more lethal Rogue. But the dungeon does not have what you seek.”

  “Figures,” Jeremy said, putting his dungeon stars away.

  “Your dungeon stars could be exchanged for sixty Attribute points to be placed where you wish, active or passive skills, like stone skin, or the attack skills I mentioned previously. But they will not buy the active skill you want.”

  “Could they eliminate the passive skill limits I keep encountering?”

  “Perhaps a few. But these limits are based on many factors, so we could not eliminate all of them.”

  “Figures,” Jeremy grumbled. “I'd like you to replace the clothes and equipment I lost. What you can at least. And I don't suppose you have a nicer suit of leather armor?”

  “Well,” Banxi started to say.

  “Within my price range?”

  “Does the price range include your six dungeon stars?”

  “No,” Jeremy responded.

  “Then that would also be no.”

  “Great.”

  He spent 500 dc replacing all the clothes and supplies he reasonably could, then Banxi vanished.

  “Okay, guys,” Jeremy glared at Squeak, Book, and Flint. His three companions were sitting, or floating in front of him, in the fake park of the safe room. “Before I leave this floor of the dungeon. I want answers. He turned to Flint, who was floating nearby, staring off into the distance and sulking. “Flint. How can I bypass the limits imposed on me by this dungeon system? You claim to have been around for thousands of years. You must have some idea.”

  “Well, Jeremy. If I could bend or break ancient dungeon law for you, I would, if only to stop you from complaining and get you to leave this dungeon. But I can't. You are, and always will be, limited by your character class and therefore weak. Your passive abilities partially compensate for your shortcomings. But as a Rogue, your lack of mana-enhanced attack/defense, as well as mana channeling—the Spellcaster special skill—will always limit your abilities. You could become a Fighter or Spellcaster, but you're much better suited to the Rogue class, and I fear such a change would weaken you even more. Deal with it.”

  Jeremy wished he could punch his companion.

  “Squeak?” Squeak, as expected, had nothing.

  To Jeremy's surprise, Book started bouncing up and down on the grass.

  “Book has the answer?” Jeremy opened Book.

  Many, many, many, many years ago, there was a race of silly beings known as The Children of Assp. The Children of Assp lived on a distant world and were known throughout the universe for their gentle, peaceful nature. They believed not in dungeons, adventurers, or character leveling. These gentle, silly beings believed killing monsters to gain levels was a form of vampirism, or life eating, and therefore an abomination. Because of this, they'd kill any adventurers they found.

  The Children of Assp asked the invaders to return the lands they'd stolen from them and leave. When the invaders laughed at them and refused, The Children of Assp returned with a mighty army, cut off every one of the invaders' heads, and placed them on pikes, so all would know of The Children of Assps' gentle, kindly, peaceful nature.

  “I'd hate to see what the brutal, warlike people of this world got up to,” Jeremy said, looking at the picture of a never-ending valley of thousands upon thousands of heads from men, women, children, and infants resting on pikes. He shuddered. “Not sure what this has to do with my question.”

  “As usual, Jeremy, you're missing the point,” Flint said from behind him. “How could these gentle, silly people, who didn't believe in dungeons or leveling, have successfully defended their homeland from invaders who presumably did not share these beliefs and would have many strong adventurers to defend them?”

  That was a good question.

  Jeremy read on.

  Instead of entering dungeons and fighting monsters for experience, The Children of Assp dedicated themselves to raising their passive skills to the greatest possible extent. Using secret training techniques known only to them, they raised their strength and speed until they rivaled even high-level adventurers. A few grandmasters reached what is known as Enhanced Physical: 10, which they believed to be the pinnacle of humanoid passive-skill development.

  But The Children of Assps' limitation was magic. Though physically very strong, they were vulnerable to magic attacks. Over hundreds of years, a few of their geniuses developed a low-mana spell to counter this. They called it the Shell of the Sand Monarch. This magical shell would protect them from attacks of magical and non-magical nature, while enhancing their strength and speed beyond even their superhumanoid levels. Some of these geniuses modified the shell to create magic blades that would cut even the strongest opponents to pieces.

  And then a very powerful group of otherworldly wizards got mad at these gentle, silly beings and buried them under a sea of molten lava.

  The End.

  “I see,” Jeremy was filled with excitement at this new knowledge. “Thanks, Book! The Shell of the Sand Monarch sounds perfect, not limited to fighters, and possibly even better than mana-enhanced attack/defense.”

  “I agree, though it might be harder to evolve such a spell than a dungeon-granted active skill,” Flint said. “There is, however, one problem. Even if this spell still exists, it's on an unknown world, in an unknown location, and has most likely been buried under lava for a very long time, and even if it's not, learning a spell from scratch is much harder than having a spell given to you by a god or dungeon.”

  “But now we know the spell existed in the past. Someone must have it, or a spell like it, and we are going to find it.” Jeremy put away the last of his belongings, left the safe room, and headed for the exit.

  He felt prickles on the back of his neck from the gnomes watching him from a distance. He grabbed his bow, and before the gnomes could react, he spun around and fired an arrow so it stuck in the passageway wall behind them, less than an inch above their heads. The gnomes quickly withdrew.

  “Find this spell where?” Flint asked.

  “I don't suppose there's time travel in the dungeon universe?”

  “Only the most powerful Spellcasters have even attempted to travel back in time, and none have succeeded.”

  “We'll think of something,” Jeremy said as he pushed open the third-floor exit and entered the fourth floor of the dungeon.

  ***

  “Should we have warned him?” Fizzlepuff asked the others as soon as Jeremy left for the fourth floor of the dungeon.

  “Absolutely not,” Fekfuff said. “You know what they'd do to us if they found out.”

  “Besides,” Pufflepop added, “they must be on the fifth floor by now.”