Vicious snarls and desperate shrieks echoed through the wide corridors of the never-ending dungeon, the savagery of the generated monsters lasting until their meeting with the tyrant's blade.
Shadow Stalker, a monster that could be seen as the project of a Stalker Claw.
Their physical abilities were low, the slight traces of grace and nimbleness in their movement barely evened the field against novice adventurers, and their bodies seemed to be made out of shadows, no sign of the strong exoskeleton of their stronger 'version'.
This monster appeared on the sixth floor, Verhund's present location. He had just finished a group of kobolds teaming with this 'final opponent' of his and now stood facing the slender shadow which already carried a broken arm.
The fact that it stood firm with a hunched back as if ready to leap at any moment, not a whimper sounding out even as its ruined arm hanged loosely by its side, painted a tense moment for inexistent prying eyes.
Of course, whatever the monster tried to portray had no effect on Verhund, who used the old tactic of kicking a monster core at the opponent before dashing in for the kill.
Along with its core, the monster seemed to have left the claws of one of its hands behind too, apparently a dropped material, a little extra for the senseless adventurer who had almost filled his small bag already.
He fiddled with the claws for a moment to realize that it was slightly more durable than iron but worse than steel, it was worth some pocket money.
"Travelling up and down all day, this thing really is a mine, it doesn't even have proper administration. People are getting weirder by the day."
So said the freak.
Verhund patiently headed all the way up and completely filled his bag in the process, the monsters perpetually lost in their task of looking cool.
The outside was still suffering from low traffic due to yesterday's incident, those entering and leaving the dungeon belonged mostly to the strata of levels 1 to 2 who didn't have that much of an income.
Incredibly enough, Verhund had mined down there for over five hours and barely got tired, his hunger just having made its appearance.
He entered the Guild - close to the dungeon entrance - and once again met with his dear citizen, miss Guild receptionist.
As he cheerfully headed to the long counter, Verhund barely gave any attention to the adventurers lazing about the place or shouting at the poor Guild staff.
His steps were light and ever free of any worries, so much so that the first impression he gave was that of an ignorant brat or a perfectly depressed actor, donning others' cloak and walking their steps.
He had a slightly excited smile, but because of the way head bobbed here and there while his eyes were somewhat narrowed, it seemed like he came here to bother someone.
Those who had this impression, of course, would be absolutely right.
"Hey there, miss receptionist. It has been a day, I believe."
"It seems so, mister."
"These are the cores I caught for today, how much are they?"
"If they are just normal cores, we have a device to examine the levels of energy produced by them, just give me a moment and... here, your reward is coming in shortly, good work, mister.
The 'device' that looked eerily similar to a cash register spit out two lines of random numbers with symbols accompanying them, one was probably the amount of energy contained within all of the cores and the other is probably for the price they are worth.
So he was mining energy, eh? Fantasy is so weird, some things are just too roundabout but others are so simple and direct, it was like people were all running around akin to headless chicken and spewing anything coming out of their figuratively inexistent head while hoping something would come out right.
Needless to say, Verhund would have loved to live in a place like that, and hated that this wasn't the actual reality here.
"By the way, does the Guild provide anything to adventurers aside from taxes?"
"Taxes? Whatever do you mean?"
"No need to be shy, there's just no way for the government to lose a chance to pay less to their outsourced employees. Things like 'we need some money to pay for staff, maintenance, new facilities, our sons, daughters, dogs, fathers, mothers, uncles, aunties, and whatever else', you know, basic stuff."
"Ehh, there are indeed some taxes that can alter the price of adventurers' rewards, such as Social Support Funding, SSF; Internal Maintenace Assistance, IMA; Public Person and Private Individual Welfare, PPPIW; Inter Dungeon Development, IDD; Security Force Police, SFP; and many more useful applications of taxes over capital transitioned through the Guild."
"So your meaning is that there are taxes for random people, government property, random people, government property, random- wait, there are actual police in the city?"
"Yes? At the gates."
"And what about inside of it?"
"Adventurers?"
"Are they paid for it?"
"No."
"Why would they, then?"
"..."
"Anyway, back to taxes. What are those for retirement and debilitating wounds?"
"What?"
"What?"
"I mean, what do you mean?"
"Taxes that guarantee an adventurer's survival in case they are impaired or otherwise unable to provide their work to the Guild?"
"There is none. The contract you sign to become an adventurer announces that the Guild will take no responsibility to anything unrelated to our work."
"You said that yesterday but... aren't adventurers contracted and working under the Guild?"
"The Guild deals with matters pertaining to the dealing of monster cores and people's administration, not adventurers' lives."
"But that is enough to fine any non-adventurer entering the dungeon?"
"That is a measure adopted to dissuade civilians from entering dangerous grounds."
"So your Guild favors the civilians and protects their lifestyles but hates adventurers and ignore their survival?"
"In matters of survival, our Guild is capable of offering any adventurer tips and the likes in regards to monsters and dungeon delving in general."
"But the Guild is not capable of offering any insurance to the survival of a debilitated adventurer?"
"Why would that matter?"
"...Okay, reason with me here. Civilians are people right?"
"...Yes?"
"We're off to a good start! Adventurers are also people, yeah?"
"Indeed."
"There are taxes intended for the safety of civilians' lifestyles, right?"
"There are, several?"
"Then where are those for adventurers?"
"...I shall not comment about this issue. Please, sir, there are several adventurers awaiting their service. If you do not mind, allow me to assist them."
"Fanstasy is always so weird."
Verhund's last whispers went unnoticed by all, traveling through the wind and not reaching any ears.
Of course, no one would care even if they heard it.
That is just how fantasy is, after all. It is all about the adventure, never about the gains.
If there was anything Verhund learned from talking with Faery, it was that romance serves to blind a person's view of reality, accurately stimulating their wishes and dreams so that they only see the words written, ignoring any and all underlying meaning.
In a book, such a trick is used to present a sensible twist in the story. In reality, it is there to make sure that no one will ever realize such a trick exists.
But it would be wrong to think that Verhund disliked such absurdities. He quite liked them, actually, he still needed a reason to make it so that the ever-prying and inexistent eyes wouldn't think of him as a shallow person.
Yes, he was going to find a way to attack everyone, for their own good. So his enjoyment should be paid no heed.
That is what a romance is all about right?