Dawn at Ravengate's East Gate came with the usual chaos; merchants hauling early deliveries, night guards ending their shifts, and adventurers setting out before the day's heat. I arrived fifteen minutes early, partly from habit (survival tip: always scout your exit routes) and partly from not having slept much anyway.
My newly acquired trap detection skill had kept me up half the night, my mind processing information I'd never consciously learned. I'd spent hours staring at the ceiling, suddenly aware of the subtle structural weaknesses in the roof beams, the pressure points in the floorboards, the exact angle that would cause the door's rusty hinges to make the least noise.
Knowledge is supposed to be comforting. This didn't feel comforting, it felt like my brain had been rewired without my consent.
I found a shadowed spot near the gate's archway and watched for my soon-to-be companions. Or soon-to-be victims, depending on your perspective. Mine was getting increasingly blurred.
Thorne arrived first, looking marginally more put together than he had in the tavern. His equipment was still shabby but serviceable, and he'd traded the alcohol-induced haze for the sharp-eyed vigilance of someone expecting trouble. A sword and dagger hung at his belt, and a worn backpack was slung over one shoulder.
He nodded when he spotted me. "Jin. Prompt. Good."
"Bad habit," I replied. "Being late gets you killed in dungeons."
"Usually gets others killed first," he said with a knowing look that made me uncomfortable. "But point taken."
The next arrival was a mountain of a woman with close-cropped red hair and arms corded with muscle. She wore a patchwork of leather and metal armor that had seen better days, and carried a massive warhammer strapped across her back. Several smaller weapons — knives, a hand axe, what looked like sharpened metal knuckles — adorned her belt.
"Kira," she introduced herself, sizing me up with a glance that clearly found me wanting. "You're the new meat?"
"Jin," I said, resisting the urge to stand straighter. No point pretending to be anything other than what I was, the weakest link. At least, that's what they thought. "D-rank generalist."
She grunted, apparently having expected as much. "Stay behind me in narrow passages. Don't touch anything without asking. Don't play hero." Her accent was thick, northern. Probably from the Dunheim Iceland region.
"Wasn't planning to," I assured her.
The third member of our party arrived minutes later, a slender man with a perpetual stoop and fingers stained black with some kind of oil or ink. Mechanical devices clinked and rattled in the many pockets of his utility vest as he walked.
"Dain," he said without looking directly at any of us. His eyes darted constantly, scanning everything as if expecting an attack from any direction. "Tinkerer. Trap specialist."
My new trap detection skill immediately cataloged the numerous gadgets visible on his person: pressure plates, wire mechanisms, spring-loaded compartments. Some looked like trap components; others appeared to be trap-disarming tools. All had the telltale signs of personal modification; non-standard screws, customized triggers, unique locking mechanisms.
He noticed my examination. "See something you like?"
"Just admiring the craftsmanship," I said quickly.
His eyes narrowed. "You know traps?"
"A little," I hedged, not wanting to explain my overnight skill acquisition. "Enough to avoid the obvious ones."
"There are no obvious traps in the Crimson Labyrinth," he replied. "Only deadly ones and deadlier ones."
Thorne checked the position of the sun. "Vex isn't coming. Let's move out."
No one seemed particularly surprised or disappointed by the archer's absence. If anything, Kira looked relieved.
"Unstable," she muttered when she caught my questioning look. "Good aim, bad judgment."
We set out along the eastern road, each seemingly lost in our own thoughts. I tried not to think about how, statistically speaking, at least two of these people would probably die in the next twenty four hours. Instead, I focused on the landscape around us, the rolling hills gradually giving way to rockier terrain as we headed toward the dungeon's location.
After about an hour of walking, Thorne broke the silence. "Everyone clear on the plan?"
"What plan?" I asked.
"Exactly," Kira grunted. "Thorne doesn't do plans."
Thorne shot her an irritated look. "The plan is simple. We enter, we map as we go, we identify stable chambers, we look for crystal formations, we extract what we can, we leave. If we encounter major resistance, we retreat and try another path."
"And if the paths change like you said they do?" I asked.
"That's why we map as we go," Dain said, fingering one of his devices nervously. "I've got marking tools. Special chalk that monsters can't easily remove. Signs that will help us track changes in the layout."
I nodded, though privately I doubted chalk marks would help much in a dungeon notorious for rearranging itself. My newly acquired knowledge was whispering that physical markers could be easily manipulated, erased, or misdirected in a sentient environment like the Crimson Labyrinth was rumored to be.
"What about combat formation?" I asked, trying to sound like a responsible adventurer rather than someone calculating survival odds.
"Kira up front, me behind her, you and Dain in the rear," Thorne said. "Standard approach. Dain spots traps, you... what exactly do you do, Jin?"
All eyes turned to me. It was a fair question. D-rank generalists weren't known for specialized skills.
"I observe," I said after a moment. "I notice patterns, escape routes, environmental anomalies. I'm good at spotting when something's about to go wrong." That much was true, at least. I'd survived two party wipes by recognizing danger signs just before disaster struck.
"So you're our canary," Kira said with a humorless smile. "The one who squawks when there's trouble."
"Something like that."
"Just don't run at the first sign of trouble," Thorne warned. "We need warnings, not abandonment."
If he only knew.