Dungeon Crafter

Finn pushed open the cottage door with his shoulder.

His arms still ached pleasantly from the morning chores. He had spent most of the day helping Rowan repair a broken section of fencing, carrying feed, and clearing weeds from the edge of the field. By the time they finished, all he wanted was a drink of water and another hour with his sword before dinner.

The sword was resting where he had left it near the wall. Finn had barely taken two steps toward it when his father called from outside.

”Finn.”

He stopped and looked back toward the door.

”Yes?”

”Come help me with the cart.”

Finn glanced at the sword one more time before turning around.

His father stood beside the old wooden cart near the storage shed. Several sacks of grain had already been loaded into the back along with two baskets of vegetables and a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

Finn walked over and looked at the load.

”Are we taking these somewhere?”

”Into town.”

Finn looked at him.

”Town?”

His father nodded as he tightened one of the ropes over the sacks.

Finn’s tiredness disappeared almost immediately.

He rarely went into town. His father usually handled selling whatever extra grain or vegetables the farm could spare, and Rowan sometimes went with him when there was enough to carry. Finn had been a few times when he was younger, but most days there was too much work at home to justify bringing another person along.

”Can I come?”

His father looked at him.

Finn realized what he had just asked and laughed.

”You already said I’m helping.”

”That I did.”

Finn moved toward the front of the cart before his father could say anything else.

”I’ll pull it.”

His father raised an eyebrow. ”It’s a long walk.”

”I know.”

”You were working all morning.”

”So were you.”

Finn grabbed the wooden handles.

His father watched him for a moment before giving a small nod.

”All right. Let me know when you get tired.”

”I won’t.”

His father smiled slightly. ”We’ll see.”

The cart was heavier than Finn expected.

The first stretch was easy enough while they were still moving along the packed road beside the farm, but once they reached the uneven path beyond the fields, every shallow rut pulled against the wheels. Finn had to lean forward and use more of his weight to keep the cart moving, but he refused to complain.

His father walked beside him carrying a small pack over one shoulder, occasionally steadying one of the wheels when the road became rough.

The trip took several hours.

Finn had forgotten how far town actually was when traveling on foot with a loaded cart. The farmland eventually gave way to more trees, then wider roads where they began passing other travelers.

A merchant wagon rolled by in the opposite direction, and later two men wearing swords passed them on horseback. Finn watched both until they disappeared down the road.

By the time the sun had started sinking lower in the sky, his shoulders were burning. Then the trees opened.

Finn slowed. A stone wall stretched across the horizon ahead.

It was not especially tall compared with the castles Finn had imagined from stories, but to him it looked enormous. Watchtowers rose at intervals along the wall, while a wide gate stood open beneath a wooden platform where several guards watched the road.

People were constantly moving through it.

Carts. Travelers. Farmers. Merchants.

Adventurers.

Finn straightened despite the weight of the cart.

”We made it.”

His father looked ahead. ”Before sundown too.”

Finn smiled and pulled harder. The town became louder the moment they passed through the gate. He had remembered it being busy, but not this busy.

Stone houses crowded along both sides of the main road, some rising two or even three floors above him. Signs hung over shop doors, painted with boots, hammers, mugs, swords, bread, and symbols Finn did not recognize.

The market was even worse. Or better. He couldn’t decide. People packed the street between dozens of stalls while vendors called out prices over one another.

”Fresh river fish!”

”Three coppers! Three!”

”New leather belts!”

”Apples! Sweet apples!”

Finn turned his head constantly as they walked.

One stall had rows of colored fabric stacked higher than his waist. Another displayed knives, buckles, and metal tools across a long wooden table. A woman was selling roasted nuts from a small cart, and the smell alone nearly made Finn stop walking.

Then another smell reached him.

Meat.

Finn looked toward a nearby inn. The windows had been opened to let heat escape from the kitchen, and something was already roasting inside. Garlic and herbs mixed with the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread.

His stomach tightened.

”That smells incredible.”

His father laughed. ”Don’t stare too long or they’ll charge you for it.”

Finn reluctantly kept walking.

Their cart left the main road and turned into a narrower lane behind one of the inns. The difference was immediate.

The front of the building had been noisy and welcoming, but the rear was filled with stacked crates, barrels, empty baskets, and workers moving between the kitchen and storage rooms.

A broad man wearing a stained apron stepped outside.

”You’re late.”

Finn’s father looked toward the sun. ”I’m early compared to last time.”

The cook laughed and helped untie the grain.

Finn joined them, and together they carried the sacks inside while the cook inspected the vegetables. Most were accepted without argument, though he rejected two onions that had begun to soften.

When everything was unloaded, the cook counted several coins into his father’s hand. Finn tried not to look too closely but it didn’t seem like much.

His father thanked the man anyway.

Once they were outside again, he stood near the edge of the lane and looked toward the main market. Finn followed his gaze. From where they stood, they could see the backs of several stalls and the constant movement of people beyond them.

His father sighed.

”One day.”

Finn looked at him.

”One day what?”

”A place out there.” He nodded toward the market. ”One of the proper stalls.”

Finn looked again.

”You want to sell there?”

”If we could, it would be living a dream.”

His father rolled one of the coins between his fingers. ”A good spot on that street could sell everything we bring before midday. Grain, vegetables, baskets. Whatever we had.”

”Why don’t we?”

His father smiled, though there was not much humor in it. ”Because everyone wants a spot.”

He slipped the coins into a small pouch.

”And everyone willing to pay more gets one before us.”

Finn looked back toward the crowded market.

The stalls had seemed exciting a moment ago. Now he noticed how many people were competing for every person walking past.

”For now, the inns buy what we have,” his father continued. ”They pay less, but they pay reliably.”

Finn nodded. He understood though it still bothered him a little.

They left the empty cart near the inn and continued on foot. Their next stop was a blacksmith.

Finn heard the building before he saw it. Metal struck metal in steady bursts from somewhere behind the open front doors, and the heat inside made him immediately regret appreciating the cooler evening air.

His father handed over an old sickle wrapped in cloth. Finn recognized it from the farm. The edge had become too dull for Rowan to use properly.

The blacksmith inspected it, ran one thumb carefully along the metal, and named a price.

Finn watched his father count out the coins. Most of what they had just earned disappeared.

The blacksmith set the sickle aside.

”We’re a bit busy right now. Come back in two weeks.”

His father nodded.

Finn said nothing as they left. He did not need to. Grain took months to grow. Vegetables took weeks. The cart had taken hours to pull into town.

And most of the money was already gone because one old tool needed sharpening.

Finn walked quietly beside his father for several minutes before the older man turned down another street.

Finn expected another shop. Instead, a massive stone building stood ahead of them, taking up nearly half the block.

Two large wooden doors had been left open, and people moved constantly in and out. Several wore armor. Others carried swords, bows, staffs, or weapons Finn had never seen before.

Finn slowed. He recognized the symbol carved above the entrance. His heartbeat quickened.

The Adventurers Guild.

Finn had been here once before, years ago.

His father had brought him to have his class appraisal checked after the village result came back strange. Finn remembered being excited then too, but he had been younger.

He had never fought anything. Back then, the Guild had felt like somewhere other people belonged.

Now he had defeated a monster. A sheep, admittedly. But it still counted.

He followed his father inside. The great hall opened around him. It was enormous.

Long tables filled the center of the room, surrounded by adventurers eating, drinking, checking equipment, or talking loudly about places Finn had never heard of. A group near the wall had spread a large hide-covered map across their table, while at another, a woman was placing several monster claws into a small sack while arguing with a man over their price.

Large boards covered one side of the hall, pieces of paper pinned across them in uneven rows.

Finn slowed as he passed.

Escort work. Missing livestock. Monster sightings. Gathering requests. Dungeon expeditions.

He wanted to stop and read all of them, but his father kept walking. Finn hurried after him.

Near the rear of the hall stood several long reception counters. Clerks worked behind them, speaking with adventurers, counting coins, checking documents, and sorting small metal tags.

Finn looked around again. He had never seen so many armed people in one place.

A man passed carrying a sword almost as wide as Finn’s leg. Two women in matching leather armor were laughing beside one of the mission boards, and someone farther across the hall had a large curved horn strapped to his back.

Finn barely noticed when his father stopped and almost walked straight into him.

”Finn.”

He blinked.

”What?”

His father nodded toward the counter. A receptionist stood waiting on the other side. He nodded his head towards the woman, then back at his father.

”Why are we here?”

His father rested one hand briefly against Finn’s shoulder.

”If you’re going to keep entering that dungeon, you’re going to do it properly.”

Finn went still.

His father turned toward the receptionist.

”He’s here to register as an official adventurer.”