The corridor was littered with rat corpses, bite marks, and the thick smell of adrenaline.

  Leo tried pushing himself up from the floor, failed, and lay back down with a pitiful groan.

  Harlada leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to her shoulder, teeth clenched.

  Her lightning bracelet sparked once, then fizzled out like it also needed a breather.

  Bert stood in the middle, chest heaving, shaking from the rat bite still throbbing in his neck.

  But he didn’t collapse.

  He didn’t faint.

  He didn’t even stagger.

  Instead, he turned toward the other two.

  “Okay,” he said, voice wobbling with exhausted bravado, “time for… anti-poison work… I guess.”

  Leo blinked. “You… you can do that?”

  Bert nodded rapidly. “Poison skill. It’s not just about applying poison — it lets me handle it. Neutralise it. Resist it.”

  Harlada arched an eyebrow. “That sounds… shockingly useful.”

  Bert puffed up. “Yes it does! Now let me help before you both die in a few minutes!”

  He knelt beside Leo first, grabbed his leg, and prodded the bite.

  Leo screamed. “GENTLER!”

  “Sorry! Rogue healing is rough healing!”

  Bert pressed two fingers onto the wound, muttered a few words (mostly curse words), and his fingertips glowed faintly green — the faintest flicker of the poison skill triggering.

  Leo stiffened.

  Then relaxed.

  Pain faded from his face slightly.

  “That actually… helped,” Leo said, shocked.

  “Of course it helped!” Bert said.

  Then added quietly, “I think. Possibly. Hopefully.”

  He moved to Harlada.

  She braced herself. “Do it. Just don’t—”

  Bert touched the bite on her shoulder.

  Harlada let out a world-shattering scream.

  “OWWWW—BERT!”

  “ROGUE HEALING!” he yelled back. “NO SOFT TOUCHES!”

  Her lightning bracelet discharged involuntarily in his face.

  “Ow! Your healing is violent AND electrifying!” Bert shouted, shaking his hand.

  But then she inhaled sharply.

  Because the sharp burning pain in her shoulder —

  the poison coil —

  was gone.

  She looked up at him, breathing hard.

  “…Thank you.”

  Bert blinked.

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  “Wait. Was that… a compliment?”

  Harlada nodded. “Don’t make me repeat it.”

  Leo smiled weakly. “You saved us, Bert. Really.”

  Bert sniffed proudly. “I told you poison skill was useful!”

  Harlada wiped blood off her chin. “Fine. I’ll admit it. That was impressive.”

  And for once — just for a moment —

  Bert stood a little taller.

  ***

  Leo straightened a little. “Before whatever gets here—loot the rats.”

  Harlada wrinkled her nose. “I’m not reaching into their pockets.”

  “Do rats even have pockets?” Bert asked.

  Leo was already kneeling beside one. “Maze monsters drop loot. Everything drops loot. It’s a rule.”

  Harlada muttered, “You cannot possibly know that.”

  Leo lifted something. “Healing potions!”

  Bert’s eyes widened. “Oh! That is a rule.”

  They quickly gathered the small vials tucked into the belts, fur folds, and… questionable storage places of the rat people.

  “Two for me,” Leo said, downing them with a shudder. “Taste like moldy jam.”

  Harlada drank hers, grimaced. “Rotten citrus.”

  Bert downed two. “Why do mine taste like mint?”

  Harlada glared. “Because the Maze hates us specifically.”

  Within moments, their wounds sealed, their breathing steadied, and strength returned to their limbs.

  Then Bert rummaged through the last rat corpse — frowned — rummaged harder — and gasped.

  He pulled out a wicked-looking blade.

  Short.

  Curved.

  Dark metal.

  Faint green shimmer along the edge.

  “A poison dagger!” Bert squealed like a child who’d found his birthday cake. “MY poison dagger!”

  Leo pointed at him. “Do NOT lick it.”

  Bert froze mid-motion. “…okay.”

  Harlada pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just try not to stab yourself.”

  Bert flipped the dagger, twirled it—

  —and immediately dropped it.

  “It’s fine!” he shouted. “I’m fine.”

  Leo sighed. “Let’s move on before—”

  Clank.

  Everyone froze.

  Scrape.

  Harlada whispered, “Someone’s behind us…”

  Bonk.

  Followed by a very soft, very disappointed, “Ow.”

  Leo blinked. “Is that—did someone just… bump into a wall?”

  Scrrrrrape.

  Thunk.

  “Ow! Stop—no—ow!—quiet—ow!”

  The three looked at one another.

  Bert raised a hand to his mouth and shouted:

  “WE HEAR YOU!”

  Silence.

  Then the softest, most defeated:

  “…dammit.”

  Harlada tightened her grip on her staff. “Ready yourselves. Whoever it is… they’re terrible at sneaking.”

  Leo nodded. “Which means either they’re harmless—”

  “—or extremely dangerous,” Bert finished.

  The corridor went still.

  Something was coming.

  ***

  They stood ready —

  weapons drawn, backs straight, hearts pounding.

  The scraping stopped.

  Silence thickened.

  Then, from around the corner, came a sound none of them expected:

  Soft, miserable sobbing.

  Followed by:

  “…stupid… stupid… can’t even sneak properly… why am I like this…”

  Harlada blinked. “Is that—crying?”

  Leo lowered his sling a fraction. “Or a very emotional assassin?”

  Bert whispered, “Do assassins cry during their big entrance?”

  The sobbing grew louder.

  “—every time… I try so hard… and I run into a wall… why do I even—”

  Harlada tilted her head. “That… sounds familiar.”

  Leo took a cautious step forward. “Wait… is that—”

  A figure stumbled around the corner.

  Beard first.

  Massive, sorrowful, majestic beard dragging behind him like a defeated parade float.

  Bearded Leo sniffled loudly, wiping his eyes on his own hair.

  “…I tried to sneak,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “I really tried. But I hit the wall. Twice.”

  Harlada lowered her staff. “Bearded Leo…?”