The walk back to Ravengate was largely silent. Kira maintained a stony expression, occasionally shooting murderous glances at Thorne, who clutched his collection box like it contained the answer to all life's mysteries. Maybe for him, with his debts to the Iron Syndicate, it did.
I hung back, still processing what had happened. Or more accurately, what hadn't happened.
No receipt. No points. No reward for Dain's horrifically memorable death.
Why?
That question circled my mind like a hungry vulture. I needed to understand the rules of this power if I was going to use it effectively. There had to be a pattern, a logic to when receipts appeared and when they didn't.
The kobold warren had generated a receipt with five deaths. The Crimson Labyrinth with one death had not. What was the difference?
By the time we reached Ravengate's East Gate in the late afternoon, I'd developed several theories:
1. I needed to be in the dungeon when death occurred AND when I exited.
2. The receipt only appeared after all surviving members of the party had left the dungeon.
3. There was a minimum death threshold — one death wasn't enough for a level 3 dungeon.
4. The person had to die from monsters or traps, not from the dungeon itself.
5. I needed some connection to the deceased — Dain was essentially a stranger.
None of the theories felt completely right, but they were all I had to work with.
"We meet at the Broken Shield tonight," Thorne announced as we passed through the gate. "Eighth bell. I'll have your shares then."
"You think coin makes up for Dain?" Kira growled.
Thorne met her gaze evenly. "Nothing makes up for Dain. But we all signed the same contract, knew the same risks. He'd expect us to complete the transaction."
I wasn't sure Dain would care either way, considering he was currently being digested in the belly of a living dungeon. But I kept that thought to myself.
"Eighth bell," I confirmed. Might as well collect whatever meager payment was coming my way. Maybe getting paid for an expedition where someone died would trigger the receipt retroactively? Worth testing.
We parted ways just inside the gate. Kira headed toward the Arena district, probably to work out her anger through training or fighting. Thorne made straight for the merchant quarter, no doubt eager to convert his precious crystal fragment into debt-clearing currency.
I turned toward my rented room in the baker's district, mind still puzzling over the receipt mystery.
A prickling sensation at the back of my neck made me glance around. Was someone watching me? The streets were crowded with afternoon traffic, merchants closing up shop, laborers heading home, night workers beginning their shifts. Impossible to pick out any particular observer.
Just paranoia, probably. A side effect of spending the day in a dungeon that was literally alive and trying to eat us.
I continued on, taking a more circuitous route out of habit. Better safe than sorry when you might have multiple people interested in your unusual survival record.
Halfway home, I ducked into a small, unremarkable temple dedicated to Eridus, the god of commerce and contracts. Not because I was particularly religious—I wasn't—but because the temple's central fountain was said to wash away misfortune. After today's events, a little symbolic cleansing seemed in order.
The temple was nearly empty, just a lone priest drowsing on a bench and an elderly woman lighting candles near the altar. I approached the fountain, a simple circular basin with water flowing from the mouth of a stone fish. Tossing in the customary copper coin, I dipped my hands into the cool water and washed my face.
As the water touched my skin, a strange sensation rippled through me—like static electricity but warmer, more substantial. For a brief, disorienting moment, I thought I saw something in the water's reflection. Not my face, but a glowing blue rectangle.
A receipt?
I blinked, and the image vanished. Just my own startled expression staring back from the rippling surface.
Great. Now I was hallucinating receipts. That's what obsession did to a person.
I left the temple, more unsettled than cleansed. The sun was setting as I finally reached my room above the bakery, casting long shadows down Ravengate's narrow streets. The bakery had closed for the day, but the lingering scent of bread still permeated the stairwell as I climbed to my door.
Home sweet home. If you could call a rented room with a sagging bed and perpetual flour dust "home."
I collapsed onto the mattress without bothering to remove my boots, the day's events crashing down on me like a physical weight. I saw a man dissolved alive today. I should be traumatized, horrified, grief-stricken.
Instead, I was disappointed that his death hadn't earned me any points.
What did that say about me?
Nothing good.
I stared at the ceiling, counting the familiar cracks and stains. Tomorrow I will meet with Investigator Reyne as promised. I'd need to explain my survival of yet another deadly dungeon incident. And eventually, I'd need to find another expedition, another opportunity to test my theories about the receipt system.
But first, I needed to collect my payment from Thorne. I couldn't afford to miss even a modest payday.
As I finally closed my eyes, the image of Dain dissolving in that crimson pool flashed behind my eyelids. But something else bothered me even more, the unsettling feeling that I wasn't the only one who'd walked away from that dungeon with a secret.