"Wow," said Simon.

  "Yeah," I agreed. "I know Mum said it would be busy, but this looks like some sort of festival."

  Mum just smiled as she looked over the small collection of stalls that sat next to a big hole in the ground.

  I was probably letting my inner bumpkin shine through. A festival in our village, perhaps, but I'd bet if Greenhold put on a festival, there'd be more than four stalls. Nevertheless, the number of people around was surprising. I counted three parties of 'proper'—albeit very young—adventurers (my condition for classifying them as 'proper' being that they were wearing armour instead of more usual villager garb and carried real weapons instead of farming tools) and half a dozen groups of villagers. How many of the non-adventurers were here for the dungeon and how many were providing services for the others, I had no idea. If I assumed the pitchforks, scythes and occasional shovel were for committing violence upon monsters, rather than for a field of particularly belligerent turnips just out of sight, then it was about fifty-fifty.

  I hadn't considered a scythe, and for good reason. I wasn't sure I'd want to try using one as a weapon without a Skill for it. A pitchfork was simple; aim the pointy end at the thing you wanted to poke holes in and thrust. A scythe seemed rather more complicated, and I suspected that if I started swinging one around, I'd be as likely to chop my own arm off as to hit my target.

  Dad's research had been extensive enough to include entry procedures for the dungeon: for the most part, there weren't any. E-rank dungeons simply didn't warrant it, not being of much interest to anyone out of single-digit levels. The biggest use of this particular one was, as Grant had already mentioned, to provide the baron with the seemingly endless stocks of [Farming] skill crystals his men gave out each year.

  "Well, if you're both done gawking, shall we get going?" asked Mum.

  Simon nodded mutely.

  "Yes, let's," I agreed.

  The three of us ignored the shouts of hawkers offering bags, food, water, and other handy supplies (although, surprisingly, no weapons) and walked to the hole. A perfect cylinder had been cut out of the ground, with smooth walls of grey stone and a staircase of the same stone wrapping around the wall in a helix, descending into a thin mist that hid the tunnel's bottom.

  "Walk alongside the wall," ordered Mum, because of course she did. Yes, the staircase didn't have any sort of fence on its inside, and it was a long way down, but I wasn't some five-year-old toddler! I was hardly going to fall off!

  Especially not with eighteen Dexterity.

  In fact, as we descended away from the evening's sunlight, it was Stamina I was more worried about. If Simon didn't manage to gain a level or two down here, I had my doubts he'd manage to climb back up. That, more than anything Mum had said, gave me second thoughts about coming here with him.

  "Sheesh, how far down does it go?" he complained, lending credence to my concerns. Or perhaps he was just bored.

  Mum peered over the edge. "At least another five full loops. Maybe more. I still can't see the bottom."

  We all looked at each other, apparently all getting the notification at the same time.

  "Fluffy?" I asked.

  "Meadow?" asked Simon.

  "Really? That's the bit you find weird?" I countered.

  "If we were still on the surface, then no. In some sort of deep, dank cave, then yes. It's not where you'd normally find a meadow."

  "Fair," I admitted. "But I'm still not sure how a meadow can be fluffy, underground or not."

  "I think you're both still fundamentally misunderstanding what a dungeon is," said Mum. "But I can see the bottom now, so not long until you find out."

  I moved to look over the edge myself, only for my worrywart mother to stick out an arm and block me.

  "My clothes are wet," complained Simon, the mist soaking in as we walked.

  "If you want to turn around and go home, just say the word. I won't think any less of you," said Mum.

  "Yes, I know. I've had the argument with my parents already," sighed Simon.

  "And they told you the only reason they were letting you come with us was because they knew you'd run off on your own otherwise," I said. "You've told us a dozen times already, so yes, we know you have your heart set on coming. New information might change your mind, though."

  "No it won't. Not ever."

  Another few turns of the spiral staircase, and we finally hit the bottom. It was in no way a meadow; it was just a flat circle of stone. The base of the cylinder contained no plant-life whatsoever. The only point of interest was a doorway in the wall opposite the base of the staircase, so of course we walked through it.

  "Oh. There's the meadow," I said, gazing at the vast, sunlit field on the other side. The 'sun'—if that's what it was—was high in the sky, positioned closer to midday than the late evening it had been back on the surface. Despite descending deep underground, we'd come out in a wide, open space. Geometrically, it didn't seem possible.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Doubly so when I looked behind us, and the doorway was simply set into a rock. A big rock, admittedly, but not one as big as the stone circle we'd just walked out from. Besides, I could clearly see nothing whatsoever in the space above it, where, if the universe made sense, we'd just walked down a rather lengthy staircase.

  "Never mind the meadow. That's John!" exclaimed Simon.

  "Wait, what?" I asked, pulling my attention away from the spatial shenanigans and directing it to a small group standing not too far from the entrance-rock. Sure enough, John was there with his mother and an adventurer, dressed in a thick, padded overcoat. The adventurer wasn't one of the young teens we'd seen outside, who weren't much older than I was, but someone closer to my parents' age. "What's he doing?"

  "The same thing you are," answered Mum. "Except in a rather safer—and more expensive—manner. Look, over there."

  I looked where Mum was pointing, which was another group of four adults, too far to make out their details. They were, however, approaching John's small party at high speed.

  As they got closer, they resolved themselves into John's father—Bruno, our village headman—and three more adventurers. All of them were carrying something.

  "Oh, the little cheater!" exclaimed Simon.

  "Like I said, there's a reason serfs aren't able to make a habit of buying citizenship," said Mum. "Money is a power all of its own, and those who have it are more effectively able to make more."

  The adventurers had caught live monsters. Each of them, plus Bruno, were carrying a pair of horned rabbits—monsters that had the appearance of regular white rabbits, except for their namesake horn and being the size of a medium dog. The monsters were tied up tightly with rope, struggling to break free, but making no headway. Despite the way they were all trussed up, I couldn't see a single wound on them. I watched aghast as the monsters were dumped in front of John, who took a spear (a proper one, not a scrap-iron pitchfork) and skewered each one in turn, the bound monsters completely unable to resist.

  The group of four left immediately, presumably to find more sacrifices for John's growth, while the final adventurer started gutting the dead monsters.

  "Don't let it bother you too much," said Mum. "Bruno can't afford to hire an adventurer party like that for long. They'll use this strategy to give John an initial boost, but they won't be able to sustain it. But if Bruno is doing this for John, I'm sure you can imagine the sort of things nobility will do with their riches. Stronger adventurers and stronger monsters, for a start. There's a reason social stratification is so resilient to change."

  Thankfully, John was too focused on watching his pet adventurer's butchery to notice us staring. I really didn't want to talk to him right now. "Let's get going. Preferably in the opposite direction," I said.

  Mum nodded and led the pair of us around the other side of the entrance-rock.

  "So, how does this even work?" I asked.

  "A bit late to be asking that now, isn't it?" answered Mum.

  "I know. It's just that I was expecting... well... a cave. That's what they all are in stories. Dark, maze-like caves. To clear a dungeon, aren't you supposed to make your way to the bottom? But this is just a big field. Is there another hole in it somewhere, with another staircase downwards to another field?"

  "All dungeons are different. This one doesn't have multiple floors, and as for how to clear it... Well, why don't you use that head of yours and guess why Dad or I didn't explain the dungeon layout in advance?"

  "... Because you're not going to let us clear it," I answered. It was obvious in hindsight. Dad had come back with plentiful information, and I'd assumed he'd passed it all on to me, but if there was a System announcement on the way in, there was no way he hadn't known its name. They'd deliberately told me and Simon the absolute minimum.

  "What?" complained Simon.

  "If you encountered it alone, the boss of this dungeon would kill you. Never mind fighting it, neither of you would even stand a chance of running away. I could fight it and win, but I'm not confident that I could defend you two while doing so. Therefore, I have not told you how to reach it, and I will not permit you to bump into it accidentally. Until such a time as you're properly prepared, we'll be sticking to the regular monster spawns."

  "Horned rabbits?" I asked. "I guess that's where the 'fluffy' comes from."

  "Indeed," said Mum. "Since we're here, let's try to bring out a fur coat or two. And if we bring back some meat, Jean has agreed to cook it in return for a share."

  My mouth tingled as my saliva production involuntarily turned itself up from one to eleven. Judging from the noise of Simon swallowing, he'd had the same reaction.

  Part of me suspected Mum had timed that deliberately to get Simon to implicitly accept being banned from clearing the dungeon. The other part was too busy looking forward to tomorrow's dinner. We didn't often get meat.

  "Wait," I commented as realisation dawned. "If we have an unlimited source of meat this close to us, why do you make us eat that horrible bread? Can't you just come here and get as much meat as you want?"

  "Because I'd rather not starve to death," answered Mum. "Don't ask me the details, but I know you can't live off eating monsters. They make you feel full, but you don't get any nutrition from them. Their meat tends to rot quickly, too, even if you try to preserve it, and most types don't even taste good. So, good for a treat, but not as a staple. Otherwise there wouldn't be such a need for [Farming] and this dungeon wouldn't be concentrating on skill crystals."

  "Huh. Weird," said Simon. "How does it make you feel full if you aren't actually full?"

  I didn't answer, on account of my attention being stolen by something more important. "There's one!" I shouted, spotting a horned rabbit grazing on a patch of grass some distance away.

  It looked up at my shout, and, very much unlike a regular rabbit, it responding by charging straight at me rather than running away.

  "Remember, you both need to strike it to get a share of the experience," said Mum, which explained why Bruno had hired such experienced adventurers to deal with mere horned rabbits; for John to get full experience, they needed to catch them and tie them up without doing anything the System construed as an attack.

  The rabbit launched itself at me, point first, but I was more than agile enough to dodge. Simon, who'd been behind me, stabbed at it with his pitchfork as it landed, missing its head but still driving one of the prongs into the top of a leg.

  The rabbit made a pained squeak, aiming its horn at Simon, but its wound prevented it from leaping properly. Simon, despite being slower than me, dodged the crippled monster with ease, letting me finish it by stabbing my pitchfork into its neck from behind.

  "Well done," said Mum.

  "Yes!" exclaimed Simon. "Twenty-five experience for a single monster! We only need to kill five of them to equal eight entire hours of farm work, and it only took us a few minutes of walking to find one! We only need about twenty more of them, and I'll hit level three!"

  I smiled at Simon's infectious enthusiasm. He was excited about that? Well, I could one up him; I only needed one more to hit level ten.