Apparently, Inventory Skills are rare and coveted in the adventuring society, making Seventh the most liked client of all time by the West Wind. Especially Oran was in a good mood after his winning dibs, and chucking his backpack into the void.

  He had taken out a large leather sack before storing his things, and had filled it with some of the others' load so everybody was walking more lightly. They had hit their intended height earlier than expected, and everybody was doing some much needed relaxation before dinner with heightened cheerfulness.

  Janiq had taken off his armor and was fixing its seams with a long needle and waxed cotton thread. Sylvia was helping Jenn to comb her hair since it had been in a bun for days and had almost solidified into one big lump. Nevin had disappeared into the shadows, and Oran was taking stock of their rations, muttering about food pyramids or something. Seventh guessed he was talking about some kind of food storage or something.

  The undead were ushered to keep watch above and below where the party was currently taking a rest. The tunnel with occasional steps had changed into a steep incline of stairs. Only the occasional landing gave adventurers with proper places to set up a camp. There was a sooty spot from an earlier fire, but it was already days old.

  “Problems with the food?” Seventh asked. He didn't really have anything else to do except sneakily inspecting what exactly was inside Oran's backpack.

  After scrolling through all the food, pans, and pots he found something interesting in the list. Essence Stones— hundreds of them. He made a mental note of asking about them during the dinner.

  Oran grunted like he usually did, but this time it was more merry, maybe even friendly. “I'm just worried of our diet. Too much salt and meat, and not enough proper vegetables.”

  “We're getting out tomorrow, is that really a problem?” Seventh asked.

  “Of course!” Oran gave Seventh an incredulous look. “Nutrition and sleep have more lasting effects than you realize. One bad night can throw off your whole bodily balance for weeks and enough badly balanced meals lead to deficiency diseases and malnutrition.” He gazed slowly over Seventh's lanky frame.

  “I'll make an extra portion for you.”

  “How nice,” Seventh said flatly. “So what's for dinner anyways? More soup and bread?”

  Oran groaned. “Yea. If Nevin hadn't disappeared I'd had asked him to do some foraging. Little bit of fresh roots, mushrooms, or berries mixed in with preserved foodstuffs make wonders to the mood after a while. Good morale is half of good food.”

  Seventh nodded along with Oran's explanation. He had noticeably warmed up after Seventh's and Janiq's spar and the whole Voidspace thing.

  “Huh,” Seventh blurted out. “I actually have some mushrooms in my inventory. Redback Caps.”

  A slab of a hand landed firmly but in a friendly way on Seventh's shoulder. “Seventh, my dearliest, darliest friend of all. Would you kindly take it out? Is it fresh? Pickled? Salted?”

  The cabras' smile was wide and full of pointed teeth. Seventh stared up as he absently wiggled the inventory window open and pulled one of the large mushrooms out. It smelled strongly of fresh earth and subtle sweetness. Oran carefully took the handed 'shroom and sniffed it, gently squeezing and tapping it all around.

  He raised an eyebrow. “That's weird. It's at least one day old— you following us around and all that— but I would swear it is harvested. Look, that's afresh bruising on the stem.” He turned the eyebrow towards Seventh. “Like somebody has a inventory skill that also keep things fresh?”

  It was a good fishing try, and Seventh made his best Fang impression: he shrugged. “Maybe it just stores well in multidimensional holes in reality beyond our mortal comprehension? Wait— do you think that pickle paste would like it in there? It being made of pure evil?”

  Oran scoffed. “That paste will outlive us all no matter the environment... What else do you have hidden in that useful hole of yours? A decent butchers block?”

  “Sadly, no. I do have a dozen of poisonous— venomous?— slugs and their young.”

  “Hardly an appetizing suggestion. Did they have twigs for arms?” Oran wiggled his eyebrows at Jenn. Her dark-brown hair was long, easily past her midriff, and extremely wavy due to being tied to a bun. Sylvia commencing a battle against the knots hidden inside.

  “Huuge shells, but no arms. Then there's this poisonous moss and— huh, that's odd.” Seventh was listing everything in his Edibles

  He should have one left after finding the stairs according to Fang-Knife, it had been a four day journey there. Or had it been? Fang was undead now, capable of walking tirelessly until told otherwise, and Seventh had Lesser Stamina. Had they been walking longer and further than they realized?

  “This is edible too I guess. Awful taste and texture after a couple of bites,” Seventh said while grimacing towards the bar.

  “Rations be that. They're made for longevity and condiments don't mix well with that. Cover up nicely old meat smell and rot though.” Oran had set up the campfire with practiced ease and was slicing the Redback Cap into thick slices. He cut a small piece and taste-tested the raw mushroom. His eyes lit up. “Hey, this is pretty good! Tastes like lobster.”

  “Ugh, peasant food,” Sylvia said with a slight sneer.

  Jenn tried to give Sylvia light slap on the cheek, but failed due to not seeing behind. Her arms waved ineffectively. “Shush you and comb this peasant.”

  “I'm just saying. Coastal towns eat those horrible things all the time and try to make it an actual High Court dish! They think everything boiled in butter is high cuisine.” Sylvia shook her head in disbelief. “What next? Caviar and crabs?”

  “I once saw you eating ants from the ground, don't you try to be high and mighty there,” Oran said and made Sylvia blush.

  “That was one time! We were out of food! I was looking for berries and they were just... there!”

  “Bugeater”

  “Musclebrain.”

  “Twinklefingers.”

  “Hairbutt.”

  Janiq lifted his head from his repairs and looked around his companions. To Seventh's surprise, the leader didn't interject, but just sighed and continued carefully placing heated tar on his armors fixed seam.

  Oran and Sylvia continued to sling insults at each others while Oran sliced another mushroom and had a good cookfire going on. He looked at the thick slabs apprehensively.

  “Soup would be good, but too fishy with the lobster and nothing to bite, the portable broth is also beef-based so it would clash with the taste, and the vegetables we have are all wrong... can't even season them properly...” Oran mumbled as he considered his options for dinner.

  With a grunting moan, he came to a conclusion. “Steaks it is. Gods know what that tastes like, but at least we know then.”

  After getting a slab of preserved fat from Seventh's voidspace, the grumpy cook started to grease two iron pans and let them heat up in the embering campfire.

  The women were done with Jenn's mess of a hair, and sat closer to the fire— and Seventh.

  “I have been thinking, where did you get your Necromancer Class? You don't really look like the type, you know, so you probably didn't get it from a guild,” Jenn said.

  Seventh gave her a side-eye. And shrugged. It was the perfect universal answer to everything, but Seventh wanted to elaborate further. “The System gave it to me. I don't know what the requirements are, but when I... came to the dungeon there it just was.”

  “That's unusual. Magic classes usually need a trainer, a spellbook study, or some other guidance. Right Sylv?” Jenn asked, furrowing her brow.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The elven mage tapped her finger on her lips and thought for a while before answering. “Yes, Wizards, Mages, Warlocks, and other proper spellcasters need the studying or a mentor. Guildmasters usually have a Skill to grant the class if the conditions are met.” She eyed Seventh suspiciously. “Our new companion here does indeed seem more like a Sorcerer, Shaman, or some other instinctive casting Class. Maybe even a Spellsword? Did you know any spells or spell theory before getting the class?”

  “No, nothing at all,” Seventh said. Orans cooking filled the stairway with smell of cooking fat and sizzle of a mushroom-steak. “The System provides, I guess.”

  “As is writen,” Sylvia said, and made a hand gesture drawing an letter S on the air.

  Oran scoffed and flipped the first steaks around. They had golden brown char on them and smelled wonderful. Fishy and meaty at the same time. “A Churcher. Should have known...”

  Seventh made a mental note about 'Churcher' while Sylvia gave Oran a dignified stink-eye. “Nothing wrong with some faith in our lives. The System provides, even for you, Hairbutt.”

  “You get the burnt steak.”

  “Well anyway,” Jenn interjected before the two started bickering in earnest. “That explains why you don't speak like a necromancer. Or a Wizard for that matter.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “Nah. Quite the opposite, really. They have tendency to use two silver words when a copper one would suffice.” Jenn smiled and straightened her back. She peered down her nose at Seventh.

  "Especially when they , in their most tones, how their chosen Class is far more — , even—than those brutish, mud-splattered pursuits of the common Warrior and Fighter. After all, the are the province of the truly , are they not?" Her voice was nasaly, reminding Seventh somehow of a bookworm. A small smile tugged her lips, and she sniffed. “Ow. Speaking like that hurts my nose.”

  “Alrigh', I'll make sure me speaks real proper when the fancy-folk are withing smelling distance next time,” Seventh said with a hint of folksy farmer in his voice, and snickered. Jenn joined him while Sylvia and Oran continued to bicker in the background.

  It was a good time to gently move the discussion away from necromancy and undead— especially walking, talking, Seventh-looking ones.

  “So, uh. My inventory Skill lists everything you have in your backpack and—“

  Oran slowly swiveled his head towards Seventh. His eyes widened a fraction, and his glare could have killed a lesser man. Sylvia noticed the weaponized stare and shifted her focus between the cabras and unlucky necromancer.

  “—AAAND there are like thousands of Essence Stones in there. Those common here? And what they are used for...” Seventh quickly continued with a voice an octave or two higher and lowering rapidly to an almost whisper. He swore to himself he wouldn't look into Oran's backpack any closer than he had.

  Janiq had repaired his armor and stowed his equipment. He was getting dishes ready when he answered. “The Dungeon of Tears is famous for its Essence Stones,” he looked Seventh in the eye. “. It's lucrative to join a mining expedition or make one yourself. Maps and tips on new or rich veins go for a high price if you don't like mining.”

  Seventh nodded to the explanation. “And you use them for...?”

  “Enchanting, magic rituals, power sources for magical devices, recharging magical items... there's really quite a lot you can do with them. Your village didn't have them? None at all?” Janiq asked.

  “Nope.” Seventh tried to keep his expression neutral. He failed, and Janiq raised an eyebrow. “Well, there's a weird question. Asking for a friend kinda thing— what if you could make them? Essence Stones? Is it... legal? Can I sell them?”

  The whole of West Wind stared at Seventh. Even Nevin had appeared from somewhere and was receiving a slightly charred steak from Oran.

  Janiq narrowed his eyes. "If you get those kind of stones and start to hand them around, the local merchants and mining guilds are going to ask questions."

  "Why?" Seventh asked.

  "Guild politics and taxes," Janiq said, sighing heavily. "Naturally occurring resources in dungeons are regulated by the Guilds. You can use and sell anything you find from a dungeon, but the moment you try to make some serious money? The taxmen cometh."

  Grumbling around the campfire cemented the statement as a shared opinion.

  “I'd suggest you talk to this and suggest that they ask around the guilds before doing something stupid. In your rank— or this friend's rank— it shouldn't be a huge problem, but I have heard that the Enchanters' Guild controls the Essence Stone sales with an adamantine fist.”

  “Buncha wankers and stuck up wand-asses. Just getting a Sharpen enchantment to my axes was an ordeal— and pricey.” Oran complained as he handed the ready steaks to all. He had used second pan to rehydrate and fry some vegetables to give some color to the plate.

  The mushroom-steak Seventh received was thick and flowing with aromatic juices. His knife— gained from Oran's stash of cutlery, with permission— cut easily into the spongy flesh, and Seventh's first bite was marvelous. The mushroomy texture disappeared after a bite or two, replaced with flakey fishy goodness. Seventh had never eaten lobster, but if it tasted anything like this, he wanted to try some.

  Appreciative moans and head nodding all around confirmed everybody else also appreciated the good food. Oran smiled widely and dug into his own plate with two extremely thick steaks and a mountain of peas.

  “Shit, Oran. We need to add this to our possible rations. Where did ya say you got these 'shrooms, Seventh?” Jenn asked between her devouring bites and haphazard knife-work.

  “I can draw you a map. Or just give you some, I have—“ Seventh checked his inventory. “— Thirty-six more. Actually, not give, you some.”

  Jenn slapped her chest with mock-shock. “After all we have gone through? This is what it has become, money over friendship?”

  “Yep, totally. Do I need to check for a Mushroom Guild or whatever to make a sale?”

  “No, but you get the hang of what needs to go through Guilds and what doesn't quickly,” Jenn said while finishing her steak. "Especially in the Corpse Flower. After the ."

  Her eyes gained glassy sheen at the word 'ritual'. It also had a worrying timbre that made Seventh look up from his own steak. The whole West Wind suddenly wore a somber and worried expressions, and the air grew heavy. The smoke drew dreading lines in the air.

  "Ah yes, ," Oran said.

  "Corpse Flower? What ritual?" Seventh asked.

  "You will never be the same. Not after the ," Janiq somberly nodded.

  "Yes, yes. ," Sylvia blankly stated.

  Nevin nodded with unusually serious face. In his dark clothing he reminded of an undertaker. All he needed was a shovel.

  "What is happening?" Seventh asked with a slightly rising panic. Was it the mushrooms? Were they poisonous after all?

  Jenn mechanically turned her head to stare Seventh with blank eyes. "The Necromancers Guild of Adamantine Bastion— Corpse Flower— has long and illustrious history of their ."

  Seventh gulped loudly.

  Jenn bared her teeth and whispered the cursed word.

  "."

  The others shuddered. There was a dumbfounded silence when Seventh tried to process everything. Everybody else doubled down in laughter to his face that changed expressions from dread to utter befuddlement.

  Seventh calmly took a spoonful of the soup. "Oh, that's fine. I'm a Scholar so that shouldn't be a problem."

  Howling laughter echoed around the tunnel. Oran and Janiq were rolling on the floor, Sylvia wiped a tear from her eye, Jenn held her ribs, and even Nevin snorted out loud.

  "By the gods! I you had a dark secret!" Jenn said while still snickering.

  "Yeah, one or two," Seventh said smiling a sly grin.

  "Ooh! Secrets, I like secrets!" Jenn said. "I bet I can pry one or two out of you before tomorrow."

  "I'm an open book," Seventh said while opening his arms wide. He furrowed his brow. "But why by tomorrow?"

  Jenn's smile widened. "Tomorrow we're out of the dungeon."

  "Oh. Yeah. Tomorrow."

  That made Seventh stop and think. He had been with West Wind less than a day, but they already felt like... friends. Comrades. Something he had lost in the dungeon. One of the firecubes cracked and split, spewing a small puff of smoke.

  They would go their separate ways after reaching the surface. West Wind was ranks above him and he would have to find others or be a solo adventurer.

  Would he be an adventurer?

  He could just find a job as a scribe. Or make Essence Stones, pay taxes, and be a normal citizen.

  His sudden silence started another wave of subtle nods and shakes rippling around him at the campfire. It was oddly comforting— like the Squad Seven had been. Silent camaraderie and understanding of others.

  Tomorrow Seventh would have to think where he would find a similar group. Or maybe he could stay with West Wind. The thought cheered him up, warmed like a good meal.

  But he had to test the waters first, not just blurt the question out. “Who has the first watch?”

  The question was aimed at Janiq. He slowly chewed the last bites of his steak. He swallowed and looked Seventh in the eye. “We keep the watch, and you can get a good night's rest.”

  Seventh's mouth twitched. “I already got that last night. Surely somebody else would like to get some sleep? Or shorter shifts with one more keeping watch?”

  “No.”

  “But—“

  Janiq interrupted Seventh before he could complain. “I get you want to contribute— I really do— but you are .”

  The campfire crackled. The air was still filled with the smells of warm iron and good food.

  Janiq's words hurt. After all Seventh had gone through, the enemies he had conquered, hardships he had bested, and all the skills he had. They saw him weak, useless.

  The leader noticed the hurt and tried to soften the blow. Too late. "It's not your skills against monsters. You're adequate to defend yourself against any Bronze monsters around here, but not the people— you would be torn apart."

  "Sure, whatever you say. ," Seventh grumbled. "I'll be sleeping in my bone castle then. Maybe doodle some maps."

  He left his plate and utensils on the ground, not handing them forward to Oran. The landing they were camping on was small, so Seventh walked down and made his own landing with bone. He didn't look back once at the adventurers.

  When Seventh was comfortably entombed in bone and out of earshot, Nevin whispered, "Better than adequate."

  Janiq nodded and sighed. "Too raw and unpredictable. Doesn't know how to use his Attributes efficiently, and he would hurt himself more than any bandit."

  "Fights like a monster," Nevin whispered.

  "That's what worries me. He would tear himself apart just to win, not a mentality I'd like my teammates to have." Janiq sighed, troubled by his own conclusions about Seventh. "I can't get a proper read on him. He's honest— at least as honest as any adventurer— but something in him still nags at me."

  "A dark secret or two?" Jenn mused.

  "A dark secret or two."