Chương 486: B7—Chapter 62: Performance Reviews

The boss experience was the weirdest thing we'd encountered so far in this dungeon, and after the bodybuilder shark dudes, that was saying something. And it was an experience, not only a boss fight. The strangeness began at the boss's reception area. Yes, the door from the metal room led to a small reception area, with a sign that read " RECEPTION" in big, bold letters on the wall, and a desk with a ledger and a strange writing implement beside it.

Well, it actually took us a minute to figure out that it was a writing implement. It looked like a mechanical spider with six legs and a spike on its back. Mahya thought it was a monster and tried to smash it. It bounced on the table, landed on its legs, and scuttled away to hide under the ledger. Al lifted the ledger and tried to catch the critter. He didn't succeed, but the spike on the critter's back extended and pierced his finger. Al yanked his hand back with a hiss.

The ledger opened on its own with a loud thwack. The spider jumped onto the page and walked across it. Every time one of its feet touched the paper, a letter appeared in its wake. What amazed me was that it wrote in the language of Laylos that I had learned while studying the Alchemy rune book Al gave me, not in Gnomish, or whatever their language was called here. It walked across the page for quite a while. I couldn't see everything it was writing since Al was in the way, only the beginnings of the sentences.

What I did see were Al's ears getting redder and redder. When the spider finished writing, Al tried to slam the ledger shut, but couldn't move it. He sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he moved away from the desk. I immediately satisfied my curiosity and worked very hard not to snicker. Alfonsen (Al) Holerand Mirbit VII Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he is indeed a prince. Or possibly not a prince. Or perhaps a prince in a technical sense only.

After all, he gave up the role of heir apparent, which clearly means he is no longer required to inherit anything except a deeply rooted belief in his own importance. So maybe he stopped being a prince. Or maybe princehood is not something one simply stops being, like a hat or a pair of uncomfortable boots.

Whatever the true circumstances, Alfonsen (Al) Holerand Mirbit VII continues to think of himself as an important and noble prince and refuses to even entertain the possibility that he could, even briefly, stop being a prince. Princehood is not a title to him. It is the essence of his being. It is his personal identity. His posture, his tone of voice, his language, his sense of dignity, and the deeply offended expression he wears whenever anyone suggests otherwise.

Of course, we also have to ignore the curious fact that Alfonsen (Al) Holerand Mirbit VII has very strong opinions about relationships, provided nobody expects him to take the top position. But we will not talk about that. Privacy and all that other nonsense that bleeding hearts talk about. Ugh! Prince or not, what we still need to establish, loudly and at length, is that he is a brave warrior. This is a fact. An indisputable one.

He started out as a Heavy Warrior with a sword and shield, even though his physique is not at all suited for that role. Yes, yes, ladies and gentlemen, forward thinking is not his strong suit. Planning is optional. Reflection is suspicious. Commitment to an obviously ill-fitting decision is, however, absolute. He then evolved into an Alchemist, which makes no sense at all and has absolutely nothing to do with swords or shields, and from there he decided to become a Mage. Because why not.

At no point did he stop to ask whether these things fit together, made sense, or formed anything resembling a coherent life plan. Maybe you will finally decide what you are? Everyone else would appreciate it. You are driving everyone crazy with this strange confusion, this reckless juggling of identities, professions, and self-appointed destinies. And yet.

Despite all these obvious shortcomings, questionable choices, and heroic levels of stubborn inconsistency, he is still capable of taking on the greatest challenge created by the world, the gods, the spirits, and all other beings in power. No, I am not exaggerating! If I say it is the greatest challenge, then it is. Stop arguing with me. I know what I am talking about. I have documentation. Somewhere. Where was I? Oh, yes.

Alfonsen (Al) Holerand Mirbit VII is ready to take on the incredible challenge of unfathomable magnitude, legendary importance, reality-bending inconvenience, and catastrophic personal responsibility, a task so monumental that lesser beings would simply sit down, scream, and pretend it was not happening. The challenge TO MAKE IT SO Mahya wasn't as charitable as I was and burst out laughing. Al's ears got redder. To help the guy out, I grabbed her hand and stabbed it on the spider spike.

She shot me a death glare, then shrugged, and even moved aside so Al and I could see the text while it was being written. This time I had to pay the mana for the language and learn it as the spider wrote. Mahya (Mimi) Num Sister, you need to calm down. Truly. Genuinely. Take a chill pill or something.

With all the chaos rattling around inside your system, I do not understand how you have not already exploded, imploded, short-circuited, caught fire, or achieved spontaneous enlightenment followed immediately by detonation. What can I say about Mahya (Mimi) Num? She learned to dance with a sword, which is already suspicious. And somehow, while dancing, she also combined jumps, dashes, acrobatics, and confusion. Do not ask me how these things go together. They do not. Of course they do not.

But Mahya (Mimi) Num does not care. She decided that they go together, so they go together. Reality was not consulted. Natural laws filed a complaint, but it was ignored. After inventing this strange sword dance, yes, yes, strange, she decided she wanted to play with some wood. No! Not that kind of wood. Real wood. The kind that comes from trees. What a dirty mind you have. Disgraceful. I am deeply embarrassed that we work together. From this wood she made all kinds of staves. I dare you to make another dirty joke.

Nothing? Excellent. Progress has been made. Her staves are quite effective. Of course, only in the right circumstances. Not just out of the blue. Context matters. Alignment matters. Mood matters. The phase of the moon probably matters too. Do not ask me how; it simply does. After a while, she decided that dancing and wood were not enough. These women who do not settle for less are just awful. In my day, people picked one thing, did it badly, and stayed in their lane. Where was I? Oh, yes.

Wood and dancing were not enough, so she decided to become a Magicaneer. And not just any Magicaneer, but a Magicaneer who builds a spaceship. A spaceship! What exactly did you lose on the ground that you are so desperate to go to space? It is cold up there. Dark. Unfriendly. There is no wood. Very disappointing.

She has the option tucked neatly into her back pocket to become a Merchant, a Mosaic Ritualist, or an Arcane Mechanist, but instead she procrastinates, scatters, and pokes at everything at once instead of working toward anything in a sensible order. No, do not argue with me. You are always messing with the frame. To become an Arcane Mechanist, you need to build engines and moving parts, not just frames. A frame is not an engine. A frame is an idea with bolts.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Those arguments are annoying. Terrible. I hate my job. Where was I? Oh, yes. Mahya (Mimi) Num suffers from the same affliction as Alfonsen (Al) Holerand Mirbit VII. Scattered identities. Unrelated ideas. Too many talents, not enough restraint. No wonder you are a party. You are both so confused that I genuinely do not understand how anything ever gets finished. And yet.

For all the chaos listed above, footnoted, and aggressively underlined, Mahya (Mimi) Num is still the kind of person who can shoulder an undertaking of impossible scale, mythic consequence, reality-warping inconvenience, and soul-crushing responsibility, the sort of task that makes lesser beings sit down, scream, and hope no one noticed. The challenge TO MAKE IT SO Now it was Mahya's turn to blush. She didn't turn red, but her skin definitely darkened. Al was nice about it and didn't laugh.

I bit my cheek hard and didn't snicker, but I couldn't completely stop myself.

"Mimi?" I asked. Her skin darkened another shade. She looked away, then kicked my shin. Fortunately, her heart wasn't in it. It was more of a tap than a real kick. I nudged her with my elbow.

"So, Mimi?" She huffed and turned to face me.

"It's a stupid nickname my siblings invented. And if you ever mention it again, I will kick your ass." I lifted my hands in surrender.

"Okay. Deleted from the memory banks." She nodded, then swept her hand toward the spider with a flourish. I took a deep breath, braced myself for the criticism, and pricked my finger on the spike. This time it wrote in English. John (The Psycho) (Baby) Rue Are you kidding me? With all this potential, you are sitting on your ass and doing nothing? Yes, absolutely nothing. No. Baking cookies does not count. Neither does smoking crabs. Roasting snakes is also not a valid argument. Do not look at me like that.

Let us talk about Lazy John (The Psycho) (Baby) Rue. He started out as a Healer. Yes, that sounds impressive. Noble, even. Very heroic. Except for the inconvenient detail that he was already a doctor, with a great deal of practical experience. In that context, becoming a Healer was the lowest bar he could clear without active effort. Okay. Okay. Stop arguing. I admit it is still a little impressive. Okay, fine. More than a little impressive. But not too much. Do not let it go to your head. It already goes to his.

As his next great act of heroism, he somehow acquired a large amount of property from somewhere and sold it. Then, with that money, he bought a large amount of other property. Buying and selling. Selling and buying. Why all the fuss? Would it not be easier to simply use what you already have instead of constantly moving it around? In John (The Psycho) (Baby) Rue's case, it worked. Somehow. He became a Merchant. The worst Merchant in collective memory.

A walking violation of basic economic principles, but we do not talk about that. Well. We talk about it a little. Quietly. Among professionals. Usually with diagrams and concerned expressions. After that, his legacy awakened, and he received an offer to become a Wizard. A real offer. To be a Wizard. A real one. I will repeat that, slowly, so the significance sinks in. Wizard. Others would have cut off arms, legs, and possibly something far more important for future generations to receive such an offer.

And what did John (The Psycho) (Baby) Rue do? He refused! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, he refused. Whoever heard of such a thing? Okay, stop arguing. I admit it worked out in the end. He even threw a few punches and became a Wizard Battle Master. I suspect connections. Lore manipulation. Paperwork irregularities. Otherwise, it simply does not make sense. He does almost nothing, and greatness keeps falling into his lap. Definitely connections in the higher echelons. No doubt about it.

Somebody up there is pulling strings. Where was I? Oh, yes. In the next phase of his lazy behavior, he sang and played for fun. For fun. Burning time. Doing nothing important or meaningful for his advancement. And somehow, without any logical explanation or even a shred of common sense, he became a Bard. That is not right. No. I am right. Do not look at me like that. He was goofing around and receiving gifts left and right, without effort, paperwork, or even the decency to pretend he earned them.

Whoever heard of such a thing? This has connections written all over it. High-level connections. The kind you do not question if you value your continued existence. And I do not even want to talk about his ridiculous mana levels. Whoever heard of such numbers? That is just not right. That is not reasonable. That is not fair. I have forms to protest about this. These humans are exhausting. No wonder they are a party.

A confused prince who refuses to choose a role, a fiery Magicaneer who believes every problem can be solved by cutting it to bits, and a catastrophically overqualified Healer who keeps tripping over greatness while napping. Scattered identities. Unrelated talents. Too much potential, not enough drive. It is a miracle anything ever gets finished, and an even bigger miracle that it somehow does. And yet.

For all his documented shortcomings, annotated failures, and complaints filed with enthusiasm, John (The Psycho) (Baby) Rue remains capable of facing a burden of absurd magnitude, legendary consequence, logic-defying inconvenience, and ruinous responsibility, the kind of ordeal that sends lesser beings into denial, hysteria, or both. The challenge TO MAKE IT SO Well, it wasn't as bad as I expected.

"Psycho?" Mahya asked, one eyebrow lifting as she glanced at me sideways.

"Baby?" Al added, his tone carefully neutral. I shook my head and smiled.

"The bullies at my school gave me the nickname The Psycho, and my wife called me Baby." Mahya snorted.

"It's right about your goofing around."

"Hey," I protested, holding up a finger.

"I thought we weren't pointing out valid points. If we are, I can start talking about the chill pill." She shoved me sideways, annoyed but clearly amused. There was no malice in it, just a quick, sharp push meant to make a point. I laughed and staggered a half step anyway. Rue didn't need an invitation. He walked over and tapped his paw on the spike. Rue (Stretch) (Good Boy) Now I have to introduce a dog? That was not in the job description. I checked. Twice. Very carefully.

There was fine print, but there was no mention of dogs. The spider folded its legs beneath itself and sat on the page. Rue growled loudly. The spider jumped up and went back to writing. Okay. Okay. I will introduce him. Stop that. I hate my job. Rue (Stretch) (Good Boy) is a dog. This should already settle several questions. He used to be called Stretch. What a stupid name. Who thought of that stupid name? You need to find that person and bite them. At least twice. And once from me, just for fun.

Educational biting. Corrective biting. He likes to eat, nap, and receive ear scratches. This is acceptable. This is standard dog behavior. This is fine. He also likes smoked crabs and grilled snakes. Yuck! Do me a favor and work on your taste buds. I feel like I need a shower. And a toothbrush. And I do not even have teeth. He also likes to fight. Why? Why would you do that? Are you bored with life? You have a human sucker who feeds you, carries your gear, heals your injuries, and even gives you beer. Beer.

You are an alcoholic dog. And despite all of that, you still want to fight. They do not build dogs like they used to. Where was I? Oh, yes. Rue (Stretch) (Good Boy) also believes himself to be an adventurer. Do me a favor and look in the mirror. You are a dog. D. O. G. You do not wear pants. You do not fill out forms. You do not get a say in strategic decisions. And yet here you are, charging into danger, casting spells, flying, biting, and generally refusing to acknowledge reality. This is deeply unprofessional.

And yet. Despite the drool, the attitude, the questionable diet, and the complete inability to understand what a mirror is for, Rue (Stretch) (Good Boy) is loyal, terrifyingly competent, and uncomfortably sincere in ways I am not equipped to process. He protects his humans. He fights when it matters. He refuses to stay down. No wonder they are a party.

A prince tangled in his own titles, a Magicaneer who treats boundaries as optional suggestions, a Healer burdened with far more competence than motivation, and a dog who refuses to acknowledge any definition that includes the word dog. Mismatched paths. Overlapping skills. More capability than discipline. It should not function, and yet it does.

In spite of every flaw listed, indexed, and officially protested, Rue (Stretch) (Good Boy) is still prepared to face a challenge of overwhelming scale, myth-level importance, reality-bending inconvenience, and crushing responsibility, one so vast that lesser beings would simply collapse, howl, and pretend it was never assigned. The challenge TO MAKE IT SO Rue gave another growl, but this time the spider didn't react. We stood there, staring at the ledger, a bit dumbfounded.

It's not every day a dungeon disses you so completely. After about a minute of shared bewilderment, the spider jumped back onto the ledger. NEXT"That's it," I said, not sure if it could even hear me. The ledger closed with another loud thwack. The spider folded its legs beneath itself, pulled the spike in, and turned into a compact ball with a flat bottom. A loud trumpet blast made all of us jump, and the door to the boss room began to open slowly. Very slowly.

About a centimeter a minute, with the trumpet sound picking up tempo as it went. We exchanged glances, and I felt a flicker of worry. Mahya caught the look on my face and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"Relax. We haven't run into anything we couldn't handle so far."

"Indeed," Al said. I took a deep breath and nodded.