Miles wasn’t sure for how long he’d been running through the ruins and caves before he began getting bored of it. It must have been at least three or four hours by now, and while he’d made a game out of it at first—both to have a little bit of a fun and to push his control over his new Skill to its limit, the repetitive scenery and challenges could only entertain one for so long.

  After the last section of the ruins in which he basically played The Floor Is Lava while dodging every monstrous bat as he parkoured and hopped through the decrepit stone city, he decided to have a little sit down and get himself a snack. Maybe even check on his summons. And as he came out of one of the connecting tunnels into a wide, vibrant biome at the edge of an underground lake, he found himself a nice boulder near the water and sat down.

  “This spot’s perfect,” he hummed as he looked up at the glowing stalactites before turning his attention back to the moss and vegetation that grew down here. He was familiar with the vegetation of course, having spent a few of his early resets traversing this floor, but he didn’t remember ever finding this specific lake.

  Looking past it, he saw a couple of dug out tunnels beyond, which meant that the ruin he was seeing a couple hundred yards away had probably been some sort of ferrying service to get people across the lake.

  Miles yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He probably couldn’t make the jump. It was at least five hundred yards across. Maybe if he pushed the Skill to 100%, but then he might slam himself on the ceiling or rake himself against the stalactites. It just wasn’t worth the mess and in any case, he had a canoe in storage, so he’d just use that. Though as he took a second to eye the still waters, he’d need to be ready for curious fishies. He’d be shocked if the lake didn’t have a few predators laying in wait.

  Maybe there’d be something strong enough to pack for the elixirs, he thought as he pulled a little table out of thin air, then got a sandwich out of his stash. Everything he’d encountered so far hadn’t impressed him much. The rats, the bats, and the slimes were all run of the mill. He could still synthesize something out of a bunch of them, but it just wasn’t the same as using one great specimen. It was like trying to squeeze juice out of a dozen dried-up lemons instead of couple of ripe, fresh ones. And Miles really didn’t want to spend hours purifying the crappy, dried out slimes.

  “Eh. I’ll figure that out later,” he grumbled between bites, and with a gesture, he activated [Field Agent Requisition], and the little blue leather-bound notebook popped on the table. The intricate runes on its cover glowed with clear blue lights, matching some of the moss around him and as he chewed, Miles cracked open and tapped the third and newest page, and as the purple and red smoke swirled and coalesced, he got a couple of cups out of storage. One was a classic ceramic mug, and one was a tankard. He didn’t know what Ashirruk would go for, but having options always helped.

  The black horns were the first to peek out of the cloud of magic. They swept back and out of a mane of white hair that went down to the being’s thick shoulders, and as the cloud dissipated and as Ashirruk opened his eyes. Unlike in his berserker state, they weren’t just burning embers of red. The iris was red, but the sclera was pitch black, and as they scanned the surroundings, Miles felt a trill run down his limbs.

  It was always a little eerie to see how different the summons were from the copies being used by the Dungeon. Miles hadn’t been expecting the demon to immediately rage and go berserk, but he expected a reaction. Something.

  What he got instead was a calm, calculated gaze that, after taking in the surroundings, swiveled toward him, then toward the two empty containers. Without a word, Ashirruk rolled his shoulder, then smoothly sat down crossed legged at the edge of the table. Even without a chair—which Miles had actually forgot to bring out—the demon was nearly a head higher than himself.

  One day he’d enroll a champion that wouldn’t look down on him. But it wasn’t going to be today.

  “You triumphed over my weakened image. Good,” said the demon, tilting the mug toward him and raising a brow at its emptiness. His voice was deep, and his tone conversational. It was nothing like the howling, roaring version Miles had fought.

  Good start, so far, Miles thought as he recalled the song and dance Hazel had put him through the first time he’d spoken to her.

  “It took me a few tries, but I managed it in the end,” Miles said, grinning. “What would you like to drink? Liquor? Tea? Coffee? You name it. I might have it.”

  Ashirruk seemed to be giving his offer some thought, but his gaze told Miles that his focus wasn’t all dedicated to such a mundane question. He was considering some other things. Like how this meeting was happening and why. It wasn’t unfamiliar to Miles, so he didn’t rush it. After a couple of seconds, the demon finally spoke up. “It is too early for liquor. Tea would have been my choice but what is… coffee? While there are many things I’m having trouble recalling, I don’t believe I’ve encountered whatever it is.”

  Tea?

  Miles realized after a couple of seconds that he was staring. The idea of the berserker being calm enough to opt for tea instead of liquor was throwing him for a loop. Sure, it might be a little prejudiced, but he didn’t really have a lot to go off from. Ashirruk—just like Hazel and George—was the only documented member of his species and well, he didn’t paint a very peaceful picture, with the massive cleaver and suicidal attacks. So most academics had theorized that demonkind were a bit of a violent species. One—just like goblins and elves—were most likely inhabiting another section of this universe.

  It’s just that he didn’t expect Ashirruk, The Final Howl, to ask for tea.

  “It seems we are all a little distracted,” said the demon with a fanged smile.

  Miles chuckled, a little embarrassed.“Right. Sorry about that. Here,” he said, producing a still steaming teapot of a smoky green tea he liked. It had been brewed perfectly, and while it had been sitting in storage for at least a few months, it was still as fresh and piping hot as the moment he’d made it thanks to the stasis effect. Pouring out a generous cup for the demon, he produced another mug and set it in the center of the table, chucking the tankard back in storage as he explained. “So there’s no coffee where you came from? I mean, it might be around, but maybe no one had tried producing it? In any case, it has some similarities with tea. Green tea, that is. But unlike tea, we don’t use steep leaves. We use fermented, roasted beans that are then ground and brewed with hot water. The result is filtered through a mesh—thick or thin depending on the end result you want—and it produces a dark, watery brew that’s got a kick to it. It’s a little stimulating. Like tea. It has the same… components that wake you up. Try some.”

  Saying so, Miles poured the dark brew in the second ceramic mug under the watchful eyes of the demon. When he was done, Ashirruk calmly lifted the coffee cup and in his hand, it almost looked like a shot-glass, and not a regular sized mug. The demon inhaled the steam wafting from cup, took a sip, then nodded approvingly. “I like this. Can you show me the beans you spoke of?”

  Miles had been pouring himself some, because smelling the coffee made him crave some. Nodding, he reached into his Vault. “Sure. The raw stuff or processed?”

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  “Both, if you don’t mind,” the demon calmly said, putting the coffee cup down and lifting the tea up. His tight, corded muscles rippling under his red skin at the movement. This might be the weirdest summon encounter yet. Still, Miles produced a bag of roasted coffee that he set on the table, then one of the vials that held the fresh grains. “Keep that lid on. I want to plant them, and I don’t want air to get into the vial. For the roasted, have at it. I have plenty still.”

  Ashirruk studied the vial for a bit, frowning as he gently tilted it and watched the handful of grains clink against the glass, then gently put it down before lifting the paper bag and took a deep inhale of the roasted beans. Opening the bag, he picked a couple of grains with a claw, and popped in his mouth, crunching, then poured some more in his open palm before setting the coffee bag down. “I know I lived for a long time. I find it… fascinating. Maybe even alarming how much I do not recall. But I do recall foods and meats and grains. This I did not know of.”

  “The other two said the same thing,” Miles said, popping the raw and toasted grains back in storage. “That most of your memories are sealed. But not like they don’t exist, you know? You’re still the same you. You just don’t recall the exact circumstances that made you who you are.”

  “Yes. I sense it. I agreed to this. Of that I’m sure. It’s fascinating. I keep trying to think of loopholes but there’s nothing that would allow me to twist the spirit of what I agreed to,” Ashirruk said conversationally, his gaze focusing on the notebook. While Hazel had alluded to trying the same, the nonchalant way in which the demon said it made Miles go still for a second.

  Ashirruk was a lot sharper than Miles expected.

  A rumbling chuckle escaped the demon, and he shook his head. “What a terrifying Skill. This is beyond Transcendent, is it not?”

  Miles was almost tempted to dodge the question, but then he recalled that he’d already gone through this. There was nothing to worry about and well, these companions had often been a great counsel to him. He owed them the truth, especially considering their agreement to help him.

  “It is. Custodial-rank, it’s called.”

  Ashirruk hummed, hunching forward a little, eyes narrowed. “That implies a function. Have you encountered more?”

  This time, Miles took a second to drink from his own cup before nodding. “Yes. This one,” he said, tapping the book, “isn’t originally mine. Someone passed it on to me. When the Dungeon gave us these Skills, it came with a quest that would only release us from the Dungeon only if we got past the thirtieth floor, or if we gave away the Skill to someone else. My own Custodial Skill is a little more powerful.”

  Ashirruk put his cup down, then clasped both hands together, listening intently. When Miles was done, the demon spoke. “I would ask why you would disclose such dangerous secrets, but I can’t speak to any of this, to anyone, can I?”

  Miles smiled. “Those are the terms of the Skill, I assume. You can’t betray me, in any shape or form. You can’t even risk an accident that might out me. Let’s say you write this all down on a piece of paper. Well, you wouldn’t even be able to do that, because you know there’s a risk someone else might read it or find it, so the Skill would compel you not to. I’ve had time to explore the limits with Hazel and George. But Ashirruk, this isn’t being forced on you. You agreed to it, from wherever the Dungeon pulled you. And while you already agreed, I like to do this with my summoned companions. I like to double-check if you’re in. And I will ask you every year if you want to continue working for me. Anytime you want to stop, I can remove your page and you’d go back to where you came from. In the meantime, you’re free to refuse any task or assignment I give you. I want to make that very clear.”

  The Skill sometimes gave him too much control over the summon, and Miles did not like that. Not one bit. So he had set some ground rules on how it should be used and managed.

  “Huh. Very ethical of you,” the demon said, grinning at him. Then he leaned back, propping himself on one hand. “Well, I agreed once already. So you can count me in.”

  “Great! Then here,” Miles said, digging his hand in a fold of space and produced a jagged, cleaver-like sword that was almost twice as tall as he was. He threw it up, and Ashirruk’s hand snapped around the handle like second nature. “This was yours. Well, your copy’s, I mean. But I see you’re familiar enough.”

  “It’s… a close copy. Not the real thing. But it’ll do,” said the demon, pointing the sword to this side as he studied its edge. Then pointing it at his own chest, the sword sank into a red and black portal an inch off the demon’s chest as the latter spoke. “So you haven’t found why you’d gotten these Skills? If there had been a second, then it’s safe to assume there were more.”

  Miles nodded. “I encountered one on my way down. She gave me the notebook. But yeah, I bet there’s more. As to why, no clue. Not yet. But I’m keeping an eye out. Oh. And one last thing, considering you agreed to work with me and everything. It’s about interacting with the outside world.”

  Ashirruk raised a brow, and his eyes narrowed a little. Then the tension became a blank look when Miles spoke up.

  “Your name. I can’t be calling you Ashirruk around people. You’re a little too famous and it’ll attract too much attention too fast,” Miles explained, though from the look he was getting, it was going to be a tough sale.

  Just as he expected, the demon tilted his head, an indulgent smile on his face. “Why should I care? Names are important, Miles. Maybe not to you or to the other, but it is to me.”

  Miles pressed his lips for a second, then gave the demon a reluctant nod. It limited their options but he could respect that. “That… fair. I see where you’re coming from. How about we just shorten it to Ash? Like a nickname?”

  The demon seemed to mull it over for a moment and as he did, he threw back the remaining grains of coffee and began chewing. They could only hear the crunching for a few moments, until finally, the demon nodded. “I can work with that,” he relented.

  Miles clapped, a wide grin on his face. “Great! Then let’s get George out. You’ll meet Hazel when we go back up. She’s doing something for me.”

  The demon grumbled something, but Miles didn’t mind the grouchiness and instead, he focused on activating the second page and out of the notebook, a massive cloud of purples and golden browns filled the space next to them. It billowed and swelled, growing ever larger, and Miles noted that even Ash had tensed, his head leaning back further and further as the shape kept growing larger, until it finally dissipated and George’s form came through.

  “Ah, little Miles,” the voice rumbled, booming in the cave as the sixteen-foot giant of a cyclops peered down at them. As always, his singular, central eye was hidden behind the deep blue scarf tied around his head. His hair was short and dark, styled in a little wave, and the rest of him was covered in thick rustic leathers to bolster his already ridiculous toughness and when something might prove to be too much to his natural defenses, his massive round shield would be ready and right now, it was slung on his back.

  Just like Hazel and Ashirruk embodied the Seeker and Vanguard archetypes in their fighting styles—or at least, they were close enough to it—George embodied the Warden. He was the mountain challengers were supposed to get through on the 20th floor.

  “I see that Ashirruk has decided to join us,” said George as he sat down, and Miles could swear the whole cave shook at the impact. “You seem a bit calmer than last I’ve seen you, demon,” he said, looking down at the horned being.

  “Violence has a time and place, one-eyed one,” Ash simply said, though Miles could still see a little tension in his shoulders.

  George tended to have that effect on people. Especially considering the gaze they could all feel, even though his one eye was supposed to be covered.

  The cyclops chuckled, his laughter booming in the cave, and the demon grinned, taking in his new companion. "You know of my kind, eh? That is good to hear. Welcome, then. I much prefer your attitude to the one we had faced."

  Miles grinned in turn. He was glad the meeting was going well. It had been a minute since he caught up with George, and he couldn’t wait to tell him about the last couple of days.