Shaking aside my brief irritation, I lifted my sword and grunted. “Don’t take a tone with her just because you decided to run ahead without a party.”

  Haltir shot me a glare. “Is now the time to lecture me on my poor etiquette? Perhaps wait until after I’m out of the snake’s coils.”

  I grunted again, shelving the conversation for later. “Bolster.”

  Mana surged through my veins, coating every muscle until I could feel it thrumming under my skin. The snake lowered its head, fangs poised to strike, and I lunged, channeling the spell into my legs.

  The world blurred around me. In the time it took to blink, I was at the snake’s side, its shimmering green scales not even a foot away. Hefting my sword, I plunged it into the thick muscle constricting Haltir, dimly aware of Clover charging a spell behind us.

  The snake reared back, writhing, before twisting to face me. Rage burned in its slitted eyes. I braced, shifting Bolster into my arms just as its massive mouth opened in a lunge.

  Its jaws clamped down around my sword, the sharp edge slicing into the corners of its mouth. The fangs stopped inches from my face. It pressed forward, and my sword trembled under the strain, the metal reflecting the creature’s glistening scales.

  My arms burned, the odd angle and sheer weight testing my strength. I sidestepped and ripped the blade free. Blood sprayed through the air as the snake hissed furiously, releasing Haltir to focus entirely on me.

  I raised my sword, watching as it tensed for another strike.

  Haltir was still too close for Clover to use an Illuminating Lance, but if I could draw the snake back—

  A thunderous bang shattered the air. My ears rang, the sound echoing off the dungeon walls. The snake swayed, its massive bulk teetering before finally slamming into the stone floor.

  I barely registered the thud over the persistent ringing, but my eyes locked onto the corpse, analyzing it.

  Dungeon Viper

  Level 5

  Hit Points: 0/50

  Mana: 0/0

  Status: Deceased

  Well, at least we didn’t have to worry about that now.

  I relaxed, sheathing my sword as I eyed the smoking hole burned into the back of the snake’s head.

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  Just like all the others.

  Slowly, I looked up at the cause.

  Haltir swayed slightly, his injured arm clasped to his chest, and in his free hand, he held… something. Clover was right. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before.

  It had no blade, no bowstring, no bolt. A sleek metal tube sat snugly in his hand, a single component twining down around his finger, where he pressed the trigger. Smoke unfurled from the tip, still pointed at the snake, while the center of the weapon spun faintly, like a loose bolt.

  Mana pulsed around him, centering on the contraption. It… glowed. Faint, vine-like etchings traced its surface, pulsing blue. Then, as his mana dispersed, the glow vanished entirely.

  He let his arm drop with a heavy sigh, an invisible weight settling on his shoulders as he turned to face me. “Now that we’ve cleaned up that mess,” he grumbled, sparing a glare at the snake, “you may continue your lecture. Though I would appreciate some help with my arm while you do.”

  I hadn’t actually thought he was serious about picking up where we left off…

  Shaking off my bewilderment, I watched as Clover pushed forward, healing spell already charged in her hand and her glare sharp as a dagger. “Oh, you can bet your ass I’m going to lecture you. What were you thinking?! Going into an intermediate-to-advanced level dungeon alone is suicidal!”

  Haltir grunted but otherwise didn’t interrupt, enduring the scolding in silence.

  Clover pressed on. “I didn’t think you’d help the refugees, but I really didn’t think you’d do so in such a stupid way. You’re no use to anyone if you’re dead!”

  He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You guilt-tripped me, and now you’re surprised that it worked?”

  A light pink flush rose to her cheeks. I choked on a surprised noise. “You what?”

  She had told me she asked him to help Starkfell, but she hadn’t mentioned guilt-tripping him.

  The flush deepened. She refused to look at me, instead fixing her stare on Haltir. He, on the other hand, looked… amused.

  The corner of his lips curled. “After much pestering on her part, I mentioned I was searching for a woman—someone very dear to me. When I told her my last trail had gone cold, she proceeded to guilt me by asking what that woman would think if I let the refugees die.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised she was willing to go that far. She had planned to wait on discussing whatever was between us in case I stopped helping with the herb. Clover was highly tactical, always considering every possible outcome. This was no different.

  Setting that aside for later, I tipped my head and hummed. “So you decided to take on the dungeon alone?”

  He nodded, flexing his newly healed arm. “You saw my weapon in action. Few low-level monsters give me trouble. Besides, those people desperately need that herb. Every minute wasted could mean another life lost.”

  I looked at the snake pointedly. “That one seemed to be giving you plenty of trouble.”

  He scowled and kicked its carcass petulantly. “I was already injured from a surprise ambush in an earlier room. Otherwise, that wouldn’t have been a problem.”

  Right. The blood puddles…

  Flashing back to the first floor and the wounded adventurers there, I straightened. “And the people on the first floor? They all had wounds caused by your weapon. If you came here to help the refugees, I can’t see you killing them just because.”

  His expression shifted. Cold. Impassive. A solid wall of indifference slammed into place and a chill ran down my spine.

  He stared down his nose at me.

  I didn’t back down. Instead, I crossed my arms and squared off with him.

  If he was innocent, this was his chance to say so. And I wasn’t about to be cowed like some frightened child.