“This is it.” Sarah said. The Healer was well-equipped with her robes, staff, and a few pieces of Legion armour strapped over top of it all to keep the robes from flapping too much. Like everyone else, she had a roughly made backpack slung over her shoulder filled with various preparatory items - spare torches, rations, water, and a few potions.


    “Hm.” Miriam acknowledged, her mind elsewhere. She had a few wands tucked into her belt and a few MP potions in her backpack, but otherwise all she needed was herself. Her robes had also been enchanted - well, the clasp had, as the cloth was incredibly… Miriam shook her head to clear the thoughts. They seemed to crop up more and more, her mind finding some problem to sink its teeth into almost as if hunting stimulation.


    “Miri.” Mitchell warned. “We need you present.” The Patriarch had adorned his plate armour rather than his cuirass, and looked imposing in the mass of metal. His steel shield hung from one arm, and the bastard sword was pinned to his waist by the scabbard and belt. Where in the town he was looking around, observing in all directions, now his gaze was focussed and hard.


    “Lighten up Mitch.” George countered. He was dressed in dark leathers, his bow across his back, a hatchet at his waist, and a cat that could no longer be called a house cat given how he’d grown. Nimbus now came up to the Ranger’s waist, his fur dark and sleek, his claws long and sharp. He looked around with eyes that belied intelligence.


    John grinned. “Yea, lighten up. The Legion’s got things covered. Honestly, I’ve been looking forward to this. We haven’t all fought together in ages.” John’s Centurion garb stood out in comparison, though his arms and armour gleamed with the efforts of care and maintenance John put into his kit.


    The five stood before the swirling blue portal depicting the entrance to the Burning Building Dungeon. Off to the side, a pair of Raccan corpses continued to bleed, only two of the tens they’d killed on their way here. An ambush of Brutes and a Shaman had gotten dicey for a moment, but George slipped through the lines and tied up the caster, letting the rest of the party pick the Brutes apart.


    Mitchell nodded. “I agree, it’s been too long.” With a wave towards the portal, he spoke. “We’re all partied up. Potions on hand, weapons are sharp, armour is tight, Sarah’s got our backs and Miri’s ready to blow up the front. George, if you would?”


    The Ranger gave a mock salute and dove through the portal, Nimbus hot on his heels. Mitchell felt internal satisfaction when he found himself not needing to explain. After about five more seconds, he moved. “Three second gaps after me, John, Sarah, Miri you’re last. Got it?”


    “Yep.”


    “Aye.”


    “Boo, try to leave me an ant or two. I’ve got a new spell I want to try and it needs a target.”


    Mitchell laughed lightly. “Let’s just see if George left anything for any of us, alright?”


    He did not. The rest of the party emerged into an almost familiar entrance cave, the Ranger leaning against the opposite wall cleaning his nails with a dagger made of a dark chitin. A pair of corpses littered the hard stone nearby. “Oh, there you are. Been waiting here forever. Did you guys get lost without me?”


    Sarah marched right up to him and swung her staff, causing George to flinch as she stopped the swing and lightly tapped his torso with the end. “You missed a spot.”


    He looked down, raising his arms and twisting to look before he caught a slight slit in his leather cuirass, down by his side. The cut there was knitting itself closed courtesy of Sarah’s magic. “Huh. I didn’t even notice.”


    Sarah smirked as she looked him over for any other injuries. “That would be because you’re still processing your adrenaline. I only count two corpses, by the way. Don’t tell me a couple warriors gave you trouble?”


    George bristled, and Nimbus’ fur raised up on end. “First off, they were Level 25, and Soldiers, not Warriors. Second, not sure if you noticed, but those guys have spears. None of that ‘teeth and claws’ nonsense. Third, and I feel like this is the important part, they were chittering something to each other and adapted tactics after my first sneak attack.”


    Mitchell frowned. “Sounds like the Dungeon has risen to meet our level. Are we still in for this?”


    “I’m sorry, I thought I’d let you all know - I am testing my new spell in this dungeon. Which means not leaving the dungeon before we even fight anything.” Miri declared. “Besides, I’m at 34 in Arcane Acolyte. There’s a new skill at the next level, I’m pretty sure, and I want it.”


    “There is.” Sarah confirmed. “I’m at 39 in Healer. I’m not sure if you all noticed, but every fifth level takes extra experience to get, but comes with a skill.”


    “Wait, what levels does everyone have? Full spread, if you would.” John asked curiously. “I’m at 34 in Centurion, but only 26 in Carpenter Apprentice since the others started taking over more of the duties. So 30 would be my inspected level.”


    Miriam shrugged. “I’m pretty much the same but Enchanter is a level lower than your crafting class, so my inspected level is 29.”


    “Any reason we’re not saying Race level? I’m fine with it, just curious if I missed something?” George asked.


    John shrugged. “Sounds better than Race level to me, that’s all.”


    “Alright. I’m at 34 with Ranger as well. I see a trend here.”


    “Crafting class?” Mitchell asked, to which George winced.


    “19.” He admitted defensively. “I haven’t had as much time to cook and even then it barely gives experience anymore! I did the math and realized I would need to make food for entire days for another level. That, or come across a literal basket of high-grade ingredients to experiment with.”


    “That puts your inspected at 26?”


    “Yep.”


    “Sarah? What about you? You mentioned being sure of that skill at 35, does that mean you made it higher?”


    She blinked at him. “No, Mitchell. Unfortunately, we live in a nice world and nobody ever gets- I’ve been healing everyone since day one! Of course I’m over 35!”


    “She’s stuck at 37.” John provided helpfully.


    Miriam perked up. “Stuck? Like you’re not gaining experience at all, or that it’s just a much higher amount?”


    Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s not like we have experience bars or anything. I feel the same as I always do when I gain experience, but the level just won’t rise.”


    “Do you feel close, at least?” George asked.


    “Honestly, yea. I feel like I should’ve levelled five times over by now.” Sarah muttered.


    “And your crafting class?” Mitchell prodded.


    “First, crafting and combat class doesn’t make any sense. I’m a Healer, which should not be a combat class, and an Animal Handler, which doesn’t involve any crafting at all. Not unless you decide that breeding animals is the same as crafting baby animals whic- ohmygod it totally would be wouldn’t it… Alright fine. But a Healer still isn’t a combat class.”


    John nodded. “We know. Primary and secondary just feel so stuffy, though.”


    Miriam scoffed, but didn’t say anything else.


    “The level please, Sarah.” Mitchell asked patiently.


    She glared back, though quickly found having a staring contest with a steel helmet was a stupid idea. “18. Same as George - no more opportunity. I don’t even gain experience off the ass anymore - I imagine because he genuinely likes me to the point of me not really needing to handle him. Now spill the beans Patriarch. If you’re gonna grill us you better put up.”


    Mitchell sighed. “Well, I have the opposite issue. Page of the March is at 22. Clan Leader is at 34. That puts my inspected at 26. Just so we’re clear though - my goal in this delve is to take not one step backwards. I have Strength, Fortitude, Constitution, and Willpower. I can heal someone for up to 50 percent of my total health once a day. I can boost someone else''s stats once per day. I place myself in the role of tank, vanguard, whatever you like to call it.”


    George nodded. “Makes sense. I can run DPS with Miri while Sarah’s on support. John can tank or strike as needed. Miri, you can float between DPS and support.”


    “So we’re doing this?” Sarah asked.


    Mitchell nodded. “Not one step back.”


    <hr>


    “Back, back!” Mitchell shouted, his words juxtaposed with his braced position. A sickly red ant with pulsing protrusions threw itself at his upraised shield, and the Page stood strong against it, thrusting his sword deep into the ant’s carapace. There was a blink of a pause, then the ant detonated, red-hot and acidic blood spraying everywhere, landing on his armour and beginning to pit and scar it.


    True to George’s earlier observation, there were more types of Carpenter ants. The workers, minors and majors, warriors, soldiers, and now these bombers were appearing, the balance of power in the caves seeming to have shifted. These red ants were clearly being forced to charge against the party, and with this detonation, that was the third to die pointlessly.


    His party bolted back into formation, and Mitchell felt a wave of relief come over him as Sarah’s staff tapped against the back of his armour, then it was back into the fray.


    George watched out of the corner of his eye as Mitchell was buried underneath the writhing forms of dozens of warriors, John hacking at them with his gladius, often chopping through two or three of them but more streamed in to take their place. Arrow after arrow was released from the Ranger’s bow, though he quickly switched from shooting ineffectually at the pile to firing at the larger ones who’d yet to move forwards, the pair of hulking carpenter ants forcing the fire ant bombers to charge.


    Giant Carpenter Ant Guard (Major)


    Level 30


    Mitchell had been right. The Dungeon had increased its threat level to match their own. George’s first shot landed, but the second and third were blocked by a chitin shield the size of his entire body. The Guards each had a greatshield in one set of arms; in the other set, a halberd. They stood upright, towering high over the ants below them and allowing them to use a pair of limbs for each of their armaments. George estimated them at 8 feet tall or higher.


    With a chittering, one of the Guards swept its halberd his way, and a stream of ants diverted from the mass attempting to crush Mitchell and made for him. A quick glance revealed the mass to be made of workers and minor warriors. George leapt into the fray with a grin, drawing out the rapier he’d yet to actually use and his new dagger in his off-hand.


    Formic Fang - (Wand | Uncommon | F-Grade)


    Requires Agility 25, Instinct 15 to wield.


    A dagger made from the chitin of a fallen soldier, this weapon will eat away at your obstacles and overwhelm your foes.


    Grants boost to attack speed based on Agility


    Passive Effect: Attacks made with this weapon will degrade the target''s armour by 1% on a successful hit.


    Later, he would find a better weapon to compliment the dagger, but for now it would work. He met the first enthusiastic ant in the line, and lanced forward with the rapier, arm outstretched. With ease, the slender blade pierced through the chitinous skull and buried itself in an unmoving corpse. George drew it free, slamming his other arm down with the same motion and being surprised when the dagger felt next to no resistance. A quick swish, and two ants were dead, Nimbus’ claws rending a third to shreds. Then there were more, and George fell into the flow of combat.


    With the front lines occupied and finally stationary, Miriam began to cast one of her newer spells. It was an extensive one, more a cobbling of three spells together, and it would technically compile and cast the spell, but she’d yet to actually test it. Targeting one of the Guards at the back, she built the 14 array spell, her usually wandering mind struggling to focus, to keep all the intricately detailed arrays in her mind''s eye, but the cacophony of battle was much different from her study, and she lost it the first time. With a hint of embarrassment, she reverted to a previous casting aid she’d developed, and color-coded the arrays.


    It made it easier to keep each work separate, yet still possible for her to overlay them all for the actual casting. A rainbow of colours built from her hands as once again, 14 arrays manifested in the air above her. A quick jolt of MP, and a light-pink bolt shot off, flying almost lazily over the top of the writhing ant piles and striking the Guard in the center of its shield.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Spell failed!


    Miriam flinched. That wasn’t a notification she’d ever seen before. Quickly determining that it must be due to the level difference, she targeted something else - a soldier who seemed to be off to the side. A set of arrays, a flash of rainbow light, a bolt of pink energy, and…


    Congratulations! You have invented a new spell never before seen by the System!


    Reward: 10,000 XP to each spellcasting class. 1 D-coin.


    What would you like to name your spell?


    Miriam couldn’t help it. She whooped with joy. “Miriam’s Mindmelter!” She shouted, getting ready to cast it again.


    To the side, a soldier was hit by a bolt of pink light. Most of the ants'' interactions with bolts of light had been painful and lethal; however, this soldier just staggered in place before collapsing to the ground and staring blankly off into the distance. Miriam couldn’t help but giggle as the next soldier she hit did the same, then the next. Bolt after bolt of pink light flew from her hands, and she ignored her MP levels in favour of throwing the new, incredibly effective spell at every ant she could see.


    Sarah had just gotten into the groove of darting between fights, breaking some ants, healing the party member, then moving on to the next. Then, after a particularly difficult attempt to get to Mitchell, she looked around and saw that the flow was slowing. George stood among a sea of corpses, his bow back out and pointed at the Guards, as if he was content to wait as long as they did.


    John burst from the bottom of his pile, his shield gone and gladius chipped and bent. Eyes wide and covered in the ants’ blood, he looked like a savage, not like the orderly Centurion the Legion must have seen him as. With his free hand, he held an ant by the throat, and proceeded to bash its head in with the pommel of his damaged blade. Sarah decided not to tell him until after the dungeon that ants don’t breathe like people do.


    Mitchell staggered forwards, his armour smoking and almost completely worn through in some places from the acid. With another step, the entire right side fell to the ground with a clang, and he looked down at the padded gambeson sleeve that was now the only thing protecting his sword arm. A blink of surprise was all the reaction he showed, as his next step took him closer to the Guards, who continued to watch with idle interest from their position guarding the next corridor.


    Sarah jogged forwards to meet Mitchell before he could start against the Guards. They had a break, and she was getting fatigued. “Mitch, let me give it a shot. If we keep this up, there’s no way they’ll help us against the fires.”


    He shook his head and responded with a voice hard as iron. “It doesn’t matter. These creatures aren’t real anymore.”


    “What do you mean they aren’t real?” Miriam asked, walking up to join them. She had to pick her way through the battlefield to not trip over the bits and pieces of ant.


    Sarah’s heart fell. She’d suspected, but… “When we came here the first time, we were pretty much heroes to the carps. Mitchell straight up got carried with honour by their warriors. They should have recognized us last time, but they didn’t. Now…”


    “These two are stronger than the Queens were.” Mitchell growled.


    “Which means the Queens have to be stronger too.” Miriam finished. “So how couldn’t they be the same? We level up.”


    “The dungeon was a lower level when my Legionnaires trained here. I think what Mitch is saying is that each time someone enters, a new Queen is made to be at their level.” John finally dug himself out, though was still covered in gore. A quick tap of Sarah’s staff had him sigh in relief. “Thanks. I don’t think it does any damage but damn does their blood feel weird… and there’s a sentence I’d never thought I’d say.”


    “Precisely. Dalton implied a change if we build the Dungeon Gate - which is why it’s being worked on back home. For this run though, we clear. Completely. Let me know when you’re all ready to continue.”


    “Uh… are we sure those guys will wait?” George asked. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I kinda shot one.” True to his words, one of the Guards had an arrow sticking out of its shoulder and seemed to have its gaze locked onto the Ranger. “Yea, see, he’s glaring at me. Sorry, it’s not personal!”


    The Guard slowly reached up with its free fourth hand, grasped the shaft, and broke it between its chitinous fingers, before resuming its guarding stance.


    George gulped. “I don’t think he likes me.”


    With a sigh, Mitchell tore his eyes away from his armourless arm and back to their enemies. “Well, the encounter is still active - I haven’t gotten any experience yet. So I assume that means we need to get past these guys.”


    There was a beat of silence before George spoke. “Uhm… Mitchell, not to be rude, but I think you should just stand right where you are for this one.”


    John spoke up before the Page could protest. “No, he’s right. Mitch, those halberds are fucking huge. They’re the size of your whole body. There’s no way you could tank one of those.”


    Mitchell sighed again. He felt so tired suddenly. “Can any of you take the hit? Sarah and Miri are out. George, hate to say it, but I saw your stat progression. You might be able to dodge-tank them, but I don''t want to risk it. John, your shield is gone. Doesn’t one of your skills depend on wielding a shield?”


    John muttered something under his breath.


    “Exactly. So if one of you can give me a valid case for how my role could be done better by someone else, I stay here. Otherwise, I’m going to go beat those two big boys up, and I’d really appreciate some help.”


    Another beat of silence.


    “No magical abilities.” Miriam supplied.


    “High Stam, High Health, low MP.” George rattled off.


    “Both of them have the well-fed buff, and the one on the right has a disease that will kill him.”


    George let out a sigh of relief. “Oh good, we can just wai-”


    “In 28 years.” Sarah finished.


    “Nevermind.”


    Mitchell felt he might as well use his skill too, and was surprised at the result. “Disposition: Neutral?”


    John narrowed his eyes. “Briefing is filled. Thanks. Looks like they’ll enter a frenzy at half health. It’ll take us a while to get there, and it will be even harder after. Honestly, I don’t know if this is something we can do. Some raccoon looking things are one thing, but there is an eight foot tall ant standing right in front of us. Am I the only one trying not to freak out?”


    Miriam shrugged. Sarah gave John a sideways glance as she continued to heal Mitchell. George waffled his hand in the air. “Meh. I mean, yeah, they’re eight-foot ants. Did you forget I can climb a tree without hands in seconds? I’m not too concerned about height. I can get up there and do some light stabbing.”


    “Ants are supposed to lift a hundred times their weight, and those guys look pretty heavy! One hit, and you’re turning into paste.”


    “Actually.” Mitchell responded. “I think not.”


    “Here we go…” Sarah muttered, and Miriam bit back a chuckle. They did not go unnoticed.


    “No, come on, just hear me out: George has it right. He can climb a tree with no hands in seconds. What level did you start being able to do that?” Mitchell protested.


    George grinned proudly. “Managed it while we were still living at home.”


    Mitchell’s jaw dropped, then he recollected himself. “Damn. So no more than 10 stat points. What would you say your primary skill for climbing that tree was?”


    “I get it, Mitchell!” John interrupted. “I do, I really do get that our numbers are higher so we’re able to do more. I can carry a tree - an entire tree! Don’t think I don’t know!”


    “I don’t doubt you know it, John. I doubt you understand it. Hit the wall.”


    “What?”


    “When’s the last time we got hurt? Like actually hurt? George took an arrow to the shoulder a few days ago. He was fine before he even made it home.”


    “I mean, it still hurt.” George defended.


    “I don’t doubt that. Did it stop you from hunting on your way home? No.” Mitchell pressed. “What I’m saying is that we have grown John. You aren’t your Legionnaires. You’re leaps and bounds above. I need you to know that.” At John’s defiant gaze, Mitchell grumbled. “Alright, let’s put this to the test. My Willpower is over 200. I will not be budging on this. So, Sarah? Get ready please. It’s time John worked out his shit.”


    “This isn’t really the tim-” Miriam interjected, eyes on the two Guards who stood imposingly by the tunnel to the rest of the dungeon.


    “No, I think it is.” John growled, stepping closer to the Page.


    Mitchell gave a cold smile. “If you’ve forgotten, my Charisma is high as well. Who knows what I’ve been up to? For all you know, I could be brainwashing you all into following me.”


    “You wouldn’t.” Sarah said haltingly.


    Mitchell glanced at her sideways, still squared up with John. “Would you know? Didn’t you think it was weird that you of all people followed me out into the forest that day?”


    Mitchell jerked as John grabbed him by the damaged collar of his armour. “You dragged her out there on purpose?!”


    Mitchell looked down at the Centurion. “Without her, I would have died. With her, there was a chance. Simple math.”


    “Simple… math?” John shook, his arm trembling and jaw clenched so hard Mitchell worried he would chip a tooth. Then his vision flashed as his head rocked back, and he felt the briefest swimming sensation in his thoughts, before his vision snapped back to John.


    The man was enraged, fist cocked to punch again. Mitchell saw people moving, but waved his hand, stopping the party. Another fist crashed into his nose, coming away with a spurt of blood. Likely broken. The pain, the impacts, it all felt… muted.


    The fist came again, and again, coming away bloodier each time. Within three blows, Mitchell''s eye began to swell. Within five, his head pounded with pain. By the seventh, he could see through the haze that John was flagging.


    He steeled himself, and spit blood in the Centurion’s face. “Stop holding back, you fucking coward! I took your wife!”


    John’s eyes widened in fury, and with a roar he put all of his strength into one final blow, his entire body contorting as a fist crashed into Mitchell’s jaw.


    The Page felt a stabbing sense of pain, then another swimming sensation though this one was more like a tumbling than a smooth wave.


    Then, once he had enough of his mind back to realize what had happened, he found himself unable to move. A blink later, he realized he was quite far away from the group.


    I’d thought he was strong, but damn did I miscalculate. Mitchell went to say, but his jaw flapped uselessly, sending more rivers of agony into his already hurting system. Yet it felt muted, not as if it were happening to someone else, but as if he was experiencing the moment through a memory. He vaguely recalled Sarah whacking John with the staff, who was cradling his arm. He remembered the other two pointing weapons at him. He remembered her coming over with wide eyes, and a long stretch of poking and prodding with the staff.


    Then, with a sensation as if his ears were popping, the world came back into focus. The others were gathered around him, waiting expectantly. John looked angry still, though guilt tempered his features. Mitchell spat weakly, blood dribbling down his broken but rapidly healing jaw as Sarah grunted in disgust.


    “Thee? I ‘old you.” Mitchell tried to say, though he wasn’t sure if it was understood.


    “Dude, you did like three flips.” George noted. “I wonder…” Almost casually, George gave a couple hops then sprinted at the wall. With two speedy taps against the wall, he found himself high in the air. He tucked in his legs, spinning in the air and landing with a solid stance. “Whoa. Yea, so it turns out I can do a triple backflip.”


    “Yes, and I can work on spells while you all act the fool.” Miriam lashed out. “Sarah can pretty much read people’s emotional states like a book, John just punched my fiance into a wall from well over a schoolbus’s length away, and said fiance is so damn stubborn now it’s like a bloody super power. We’ll call him ‘Nuh-uh, I know better-Man’.”


    Mitchell’s face dropped, hurt.


    Sarah turned. “That’s a little reductive, don’t you think?”


    “Really? Because I asked Dalton, and do you know what Willpower is generally used for? Resisting mental effects. That’s it.” Miriam responded coldly.


    Mitchell thought about that and his stats in general.


    True, his Willpower was high. Astronomical, by Dalton’s reckoning. Beyond his alleged stubbornness, Willpower was the stat that directly controlled the rate of MP regeneration. He could recharge his entire MP pool in two minutes, small as it was.


    He just didn’t have anything to use MP on. All of his abilities were tied to time - Inspire Courage was a once-per-day ability. Lay on Hands had a daily pool that recharged. Aura of Command was a passive that affected those who followed his orders. None of them used MP.


    True, his Strength was decent at 90. Compared to John’s 190, it was paltry.


    It was also true that he had a high Fortitude, or at least middling. That was likely the only reason John’s punch didn’t take his head clean off. Yet that wouldn’t actually help him with either of his classes. His Vitality was approaching 100, which would help increase the size of his Lay on Hands pool, but that was still considered middling at this point.


    The only other stat he had any sort of significant gains in was his Charisma, which was something that had bothered him until Charisma’s effects were explained by his Advisor. Charisma wasn’t mind-control or a “hotness” meter. Charisma was closer to gravitas, the attractive force of personality that draws attention. Charisma won’t help you change somebody’s mind, but it will ensure that they actually listen to you when you speak, even if the result isn’t to your liking.


    In this case, coupled with his Willpower, it allowed him to make something of a scene.


    He made eye contact with Sarah - it was as easy as levelling his gaze, and within a second, she’d noticed out of the corner of her eye. A nearly imperceptible shake of the head as she approached with her staff, and she paused in her movement, confused.


    He planted his hands against the wall and with a screeching of metal grinding on stone, forced himself out of the person-shaped indent in the wall. With one hand, he braced his jaw, and with the other, traced its outline while activating Lay on Hands. A soothing, numbing sensation spread out from his finger, and was quickly followed by an itching that faded away.


    Mitchell rubbed his fixed jaw, noting that it had taken 10% of his healing pool to fix the malady. “Willpower is more complex than that.” Mitchell guessed, though a feeling of rightness quickly settled in. “Stubbornness is one part of it, though you could call it determined, driven, or obsession as well. Mental resistance is another part of it. MP regeneration. But that’s three things, all for the same stat. Four, if you count what I just came to realize.”


    George entertained him. “What did you realize?”


    Mitchell gave a bloody grin. “Pain. Morale. Shock. I’m pretty much immune. So like I said before - I’m going to go beat the shit out of those Guards. I’m going to have to do it without stepping backwards. Will you he-”


    “Oh stop being so damn dramatic.” Sarah spat out, though she wore a grin that cut the acid of the remark. “You don’t need to ask if we’re with you before every freaking fight. We’re here, aren’t we? Even if my loving husband is a bit temperamentally challenged around you.”


    “Hey-”


    “It’s not his-”


    “Blah, blah, blah, can we get moving already?” George complained.


    Mitchell nodded. “Let’s do this.”


    The Guards still stood tall where they were posted, watching, waiting. “Hold up. Sarah, go ask them if we can come through.”


    The Healer whirled on the Page. “Wow, what a great idea! Good thing I took my undergrad studies in speaking fucking ant.”


    Mitchell remained silent, looking at her expectantly.


    “What?”


    He arched his brow.


    “What?!” Sarah protested.


    Mitchell sighed. “Animal Handler?”


    Sarah’s eyes widened and her face flushed red as she whirled around, muttering to herself. She took careful steps towards the two Guards, who looked down on her approaching with interest.


    “Excuse me, Mr. Ants!” Sarah called out. “Uhm… can we go through?”


    The Guards looked at each other, then back to Sarah. One gave a deep chirp that startled Sarah, and she quickly came back to the group. “So uh… no. They think we’re cute, though.”


    John looked around at the scattered carcasses of the ants they’d slain. “Really?”


    Sarah shrugged. “Yea. I get the vibe it was like watching a puppy come up and beg to be let outside.”


    Mitchell shrugged. “It was worth a try. Did it help with your class?”


    Sarah glared at him. “Yea, I got a level. How’d you know?”


    He shrugged again. “I didn’t. I just remembered you mentioned it earlier, and figured this would be a good spot for a little experience for you.“


    Her glare softened. “Well, thanks. Even if it didn’t work.”


    “Now we do it the hard way.” He responded, putting his pitted and scarred helmet back on. “I’ll go in first, get aggro. John, you come in second so they don’t overwhelm me - don’t tank anything, just get the aggro from one of them and then bail. Once that happens, George’s job is to take the aggro off John and kite one of the guards long enough for us to finish the other. Miri, you got the MP for a couple Fire Resists? Figured you could push my armour up then start throwing fireballs without having to worry about burning me.”


    “It’s Fire Resist, not Fire Immunity.” Miriam explained aghast.


    “Pain resistance is my entire class.” Mitchell answered. “I can deal with some burns.”


    She frowned, but moved forward to place the enchantments. Her frown deepened as she laid her hand on the chestplate. “I can’t. And before anyone makes any jokes, it’s because your armour is so broken, and its tier is too low. It’s just a basic Systemized item, ineligible for enchants.”


    “Oh.” Mitchell responded. “Well, it was nice while it lasted but I guess it’s finally time to give it up. Change of plans! We take a thirty-minute breather, then go beat up some ants.”


    He began removing the plate armour with Miriam’s help in spite of wrinkled nose. John and Sarah went off to a small rock to sit and chat, and George shrugged and began harvesting meat and chitin from the ant carcasses.


    Then Miriam told Mitchell something, and the clattering of armour filled the cave as he literally lost his balance. “We’re rich?!”