The Rusted Axe lived up to its name. The tavern's sign – a battle-worn axe with flaking red paint – creaked in the afternoon breeze as I approached. Unlike the flashier establishments that catered to successful adventurers, this place specialized in those of us on the wrong side of fortune.
Perfect for a guy like me. Perfect for the kind of expedition I was looking for.
I pushed through the door into a dim interior that smelled of stale beer and poor life choices. The afternoon crowd was thin. A trio of musicians played in the corner, though "played" might be generous. The lute was missing strings, the drummer seemed to be following a completely different song, and the singer had clearly lost her voice years ago.
The barkeep, a burly woman with scars across both cheeks, looked up as I entered. "Looking for someone, or just drinking?"
"Thorne Blackwood," I replied. "I'm here about the Crimson Labyrinth expedition."
She snorted and jerked her thumb toward the back. "Course you are. Another rabbit for the slaughter."
My nickname again. Great.
I found Thorne Blackwood in the far corner, hunched over a table covered with worn maps and drained mugs. He looked exactly like someone with "failed treasure hunter" in his resume – weathered skin stretched over sharp features, graying hair tied back in a careless knot, and the thousand-yard stare of someone who'd seen too many dungeon depths.
His clothes had once been expensive, but now they were patched and faded. A sword with an ornate hilt but a chipped blade leaned against his chair.
"Thorne Blackwood?" I asked, stopping at a respectful distance.
He looked up, bloodshot eyes taking a moment to focus. "Who's asking?"
"Jin Harker. I saw your notice on the Board."
A flicker of hope crossed his face before disappearing behind practiced cynicism. "You don't look like much."
Coming from a guy who looked one bad day away from selling his equipment for drinking money, that stung. But I'd learned long ago that pride and survival rarely coexist in the dungeon business.
"I'm not," I admitted. "D-rank generalist. But I'm available, and I know what the Crimson Labyrinth is."
"Do you?" He laughed humorlessly. "Let me guess. You've heard the stories about the crimson crystal formations that grant enhanced abilities. About the legendary weapons abandoned by previous victims—sorry, explorers. About how one good haul from the inner chambers could set someone up for life."
I shrugged. "I've heard those things."
"Everyone's heard those things." He gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Sit down, kid. Let me tell you what the Board didn't say."
I sat, careful to keep the hidden dagger from hitting the chair. From this angle, I could see the maps more clearly. They showed the same dungeon from different attempts, each with different pathways marked, different chambers noted. The Crimson Labyrinth changed its internal structure between expeditions – not uncommon for higher-level dungeons, but a nightmare for consistent exploration.
"The Crimson Labyrinth isn't just dangerous because of the monsters," Thorne said, tapping one of the maps with a dirt-encrusted fingernail. "It's dangerous because it lies. Every passage, every chamber, every treasure—they're all bait in an elaborate trap."
"All dungeons are dangerous," I said.
"Not like this one." Thorne leaned forward. I could smell the cheap liquor on his breath. "I've led three expeditions into the Labyrinth. First one, we lost two people to what looked like an ordinary treasure chest. Opened it, released some kind of gas that turned their blood to powder inside their veins. Second expedition, we stuck to safe chambers from the previous map. Except they weren't in the same places anymore. Lost three when the floor dissolved beneath them."
He stared into his empty mug for a moment. "Third time, we made it deeper. Found an actual crimson crystal formation. Taddeo—good kid, solid B-rank enchanter—he touched it. Just touched it. The crystal... it grew through him. Like it was eating him from the inside out. Never heard screams like that, not even in the worst dungeons."
I shifted uncomfortably. The reasonable part of my brain was screaming at me to walk away, to find a different dungeon with better odds. But the part of me that saw five hundred points materialize from five deaths was doing different calculations.
"So why go back?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"Because I owe people," Thorne said flatly. "Bad people. People who don't take excuses for payment. And because despite everything, that third expedition? We found something." He pulled a small cloth pouch from inside his jacket and carefully emptied the contents onto the table between us.
It was a shard of crystal about the size of my thumb, deep red with veins of black running through it. Despite the dim tavern light, it seemed to glow from within, pulsing slightly like a tiny heartbeat.
"One fragment," Thorne said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Broke it off before Taddeo... before we had to leave him. Sold half of it to a Guild researcher for enough gold to outfit ten expeditions. This half, I kept. Been studying it."
I fought the urge to back away from the crystal. "And?"
"And it works." Thorne touched the shard with one finger. "Enhances natural abilities. Temporarily, but significantly. Strength, speed, senses—whatever you're already good at, it makes you better."
"If it's so valuable, why not sell the rest? Pay off your debts?"
He laughed bitterly. "Because the effects are addictive. And diminishing. Need more crystal each time, larger pieces for the same boost. The researcher who bought the first half? Found him dead a week later. Prolonged exposure does... things to human bodies." He carefully returned the shard to its pouch. "But a controlled expedition with the right people? We could extract enough crystal to make a fortune without falling victim to it ourselves."
I doubted that last part, but it didn't matter. Thorne Blackwood had all the checkmarks of a party leader whose expedition would end in multiple deaths: desperation, addiction, debt, and previous failures he hadn't learned from.
Perfect.
"Your notice mentioned payment," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"Equal shares of whatever we extract, after we take enough to satisfy my creditors." He studied me through narrowed eyes. "But you should know, this isn't a regular contract. No Guild registration, no insurance policies, no death benefits. This is off-the-books."
Translation: if or when people died, there'd be no official record. No Guild investigation. No questions about the sole survivor.
Again, perfect.
"When do we leave?" I asked.
Thorne seemed surprised by my easy acceptance. "Tomorrow at dawn. East Gate. Need to reach the Labyrinth entrance before midday."
"How many in the party?"
"Four, including you and me. Maybe five if Vex shows up sober enough."
"And what's our function distribution?" I asked, using the standard adventurer terminology for party roles.
Thorne drained the last drops from his mug. "Functions? Kid, this isn't a Guild-approved expedition with carefully balanced party composition. This is a desperate grab for treasure before my creditors decide I'm worth more as an example than alive." He waved to the barkeep for another drink. "But if it matters to you, I'm a tracker and blade-fighter. Kira's our muscle—former Arena fighter, has some combat magic. Dain's a tinkerer, good with traps and locks. You'll be... whatever you are."
"And Vex?"
"Archer. If he shows." Thorne shrugged. "Look, I'm not promising you'll get rich. I'm not even promising you'll survive. I'm promising an opportunity. Take it or don't."
The barkeep brought over another mug, slamming it down hard enough to slosh liquid over the maps. She looked at me with something between pity and contempt.
"New recruit?" she asked Thorne.
"Looks that way."
She turned to me. "You paid up your death rites yet, boy? Temple of Five Faces offers a discount if you prepay."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
She snorted and walked away, shaking her head.
Thorne pushed a worn contract across the table. "Sign if you're in. Ink's in the pot there."
I pulled the contract closer, reading quickly. It was as bare-bones as they come—basic acknowledgment of risks, agreement to Thorne's leadership, and profit-sharing terms. No Guild stamps, no official registration numbers. Nothing that would create a paper trail.
I dipped the quill and signed. What the hell. If things went the way they usually did around me, I'd be the only one who survived to worry about contracts anyway.
"Welcome aboard," Thorne said with a grim smile. "Hope you're luckier than my last recruits."