While cleaning the barn, Jacob looked up into the rafters and spoke out on a whim.
"Hey, are you still following me around?"
Thomas looked at Jacob in confusion before tracing his vision to the shadowy rafters of the barn, but he was unable to discern any presence there.
But, much to his surprise, there was a response after a period of silence.
"I was hired to watch after you until you return to the guild."
No explanation or even a hint of where the feminine voice was coming from, just a factual confirmation.
"Would you like to eat some food? My mother is a great cook!" Jacob once again yelled into the shadows.
"You're a kind boy," the woman's voice responded with amusement, "but I have everything I require; don't worry about me. Just pretend like I'm not here. It's not your own gold you are racking a bill up for, after all."
That caused Jacob to giggle a bit as he returned to the quest.
Thomas stared upward. He slowly lowered a heavy grain sack as he wiped dust off his forehead.
"Who exactly is hiding up there?" Thomas asked. He kept his voice low, scanning the dark ceiling beams again with a bit of concern on his face.
"A guild bodyguard," Jacob explained as if it were a normal thing to have someone hiding in your rafters.
He swept dirt into a neat pile as he continued with a bit of disinterest. "I just returned home, completing an Adventurer's Guild training bootcamp. The guild master sent her as additional protection while I was there, since he sent me to the bootcamp personally."
Thomas dropped the grain sack completely. The heavy canvas hit the floor loudly. His eyes went wide.
"A guild bootcamp?" Thomas asked, his voice pitching higher. "You secured a spot attending an official training session? In the life grove? People fight for years, hoping to receive an invitation. They usually only select people after a hefty background inspection as well as weighty contracts to force them to work for the guild for a minimum amount of time as employees."
"It was a unique situation," Jacob admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. He secured his broom upright and faced the brawler directly. "Regarding training, I need some advice. You possess actual dungeon experience, whereas I've only delved once, and that was pre-system."
Thomas stared openly. His jaw slacked slightly, and he blinked several times rapidly as if something was caught in his eye suddenly. "You delved pre-system? You survived a dungeon lacking combat skills or a status screen?"
"Barely," Jacob replied.
He rubbed his neck, remembering the chaos. "It was messy and a bit foolish on my end. Honestly, I think Carlos was insane to take me now that I think about it. We lacked proper coordination and the necessary magical support to bring through a child without the system, or at least a tiered core or maybe an aura. I had nothing to help me except some coreless enchantments, which thankfully held up. That's why I need your insight. How do real parties handle the lower floors?"
Thomas leaned heavily. He crossed his thick arms and adopted a very serious expression. The older boy seemed to be honored by receiving the question from someone he had been thinking was all put together up to this point.
He had ignored the younger kid's age from the beginning, simply due to how his new rival, Oren, treated the lad. Seeing firsthand how he was able to handle complex situations with guards and angry farmers further solidified his initial impression of the young mage.
"Pre-system delving requires insane luck," Thomas stated firmly. "You surviving that proves your grit. During a real delve using the system, stamina management becomes everything. The ambient dungeon miasma drains your physical energy constantly. You can never swing wildly, and conservation of stamina is a necessary consideration for every single fight. Honestly, the guys you went with must have been solid to begin with."
Jacob nodded slowly, absorbing the information as he compared what Thomas was saying to what he had heard from Oren and cross-referenced his own experiences. Then, he mentally categorized the advice.
"The monsters respawn unpredictably," Thomas continued. "You have to control the physical space within the dungeon itself. Most rookies die pushing too deep without keeping track of their surroundings. They exhaust their stamina reserves having to fight off the random spawns. A hidden monster suddenly ambushes them while they lack the energy necessary to block or at least parry attacks, and it ends up being the death of them quite quickly."
Thomas unfolded his arms. He demonstrated a tight boxing stance to emphasize his words. "You've got to maintain spatial awareness. Never tunnel vision a single target without proper backup. The dunegones seem to be designed to have the primary monster distract you while the real danger always targets your blind spot."
Jacob smiled gratefully. The brawler possessed excellent tactical instincts. "That's great advice, Thomas. We'll discuss combat formations later tonight. There'll be six in the group, so we can stress watching each other's backs, so the frontline can focus on the targets at hand while the rest of us handle any sneaky spawns."
They went on for a while longer, cleaning and organizing the barn. They worked physically at first, working up a sweat because Jacob wanted to see if he could level up one of his basic stats, and when that didn't work, he continued on with magic, significantly speeding up the process.
Thomas was just along for the fun, asking Jacob things about the farm and his friends while he helped move tools and surprisingly light plows around the expansive barn area.
Once they had finished up organizing the barn, Jacob heard the familiar chime of the system, indicating he had completed another quest.
System Notice: General Quest Complete.
1. Organize the Barn
Rewards: 100 Quest XP
New General Quest Available:
1. Brush Oxen Fur (Locked: 9min 59sec)
Rewards: 100 Quest XP
Total Questing XP (Level 1): (400/1000)
After checking his system messages, they went to the house as the sun was dipping down below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the farm.
They could see Arthur and Caleb making their way towards the spigot to clean up a bit before heading inside as they crossed the threshold of the wooden porch.
The heavy oak dining table sat cluttered with empty wooden bowls and a singular, scraped-clean ceramic pie dish after everyone had gotten to eat their fill.
Jacob leaned back in his sturdy wooden chair, letting out a contented sigh, having just eaten his fill. He surveyed the crowded table with a bit of satisfaction. A sweet baked apple and cinnamon scent lingered heavily inside the warm kitchen air.
Every friend present mirrored his satisfied expression. Oren slumped happily against the wall, gently rubbing his stuffed-full stomach.
Mira delicately wiped a stray pastry crumb from her chin using a rough linen napkin, while glancing between the window and the front door, ostensibly searching for danger.
Bran and Sera conversed quietly over their empty wooden mugs of watered cider on the corner of the large table.
Thomas sat stiffly at the far table corner. The battered teenager looked completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of consumed food and the bustling family atmosphere.
They needed a strategic party meeting tonight, and Jacob thought the freshly organized barn offered a great secluded workspace for that discussion.
Jacob glanced toward the kitchen counter. His mother, May, was currently stacking up the dirty iron cooking pans and the dinnerware that everyone had used for dinner that night.
He decided to help his mother and his little sister take care of the dishes with a bit of his magic. He had already enchanted some rags and brushes to handle most of the work for them, but he figured a bit of his Gentle Hand spell could make things even smoother.
Besides, his multi-casting ability could always use some work.
His mother and little sister seemed to enjoy the help as well.
He didn't get the chance to ask his mother about the system-related things he had on his mind, but he planned to address this topic once Lila finally fell asleep.
Jacob figured he should have a private, late-night conversation with his mother. He desperately needed her experienced perspective regarding dungeon preparations and party questing logistics, and advice on questing in general, as his father had advised him to ask his mother about.
Her past adventuring knowledge held crucial survival value for their new group, but he also wanted to hear the story of his mother's early life before she settled down on the farm. He was intrigued to learn about how she had spent so much time as an adventurer for the few short years before the plague hit his village.
"Do you own a pet cow?" a tiny, high-pitched voice suddenly demanded.
Six-year-old Lila stood directly beside Thomas, breaking the side conversations as everyone focused on the two of them. She stared intensely at the bruised teenager, holding a carved wooden doll against her chest. Jacob could tell that it was actually the handiwork of Caleb.
I wonder if he developed some sort of skill, Jacob thought to himself, that is better than anything any of us has ever produced to date.
Thomas froze, slowly shifting his gaze down at the tiny girl. "No. I currently lack cows, as my family doesn't own a farm."
"Why do you wear dirty bandages indoors?" Lila pressed, taking a step closer. She pointed a sticky finger at his heavily wrapped hands. "Did you fall down the well?"
Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He cast a desperate, pleading look toward Jacob. The System heavily restricted specific combat discussions with uninitiated civilians, and Thomas wasn't used to having to dance around it like the rest of them.
Explaining the violent reality of brawler skill progression to a peasant child presented a massive diplomatic nightmare as the geas hung heavily over his head. He had to figure out the dance the rest of them utilized around the actual truth.
"I work very hard outside," Thomas answered carefully, maintaining a completely flat tone. He avoided any direct eye contact with the terrifying six-year-old interrogator. "The bandages keep the dirt away and ease the damage I take to my hands, which lets me work longer every day."
"Can you punch a whole tree down?" Lila continued her relentless questioning, tilting her head sideways. "Papa cuts trees with a heavy axe. Punching seems much faster. You look like you're big enough to do it!"
"I, uh, no," Thomas stammered. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead under her intense scrutiny. "Trees are very hard, and I'm not nearly that strong."
"You're silly," Lila declared with the finality inherent to a six-year-old. She turned around and skipped away toward her corner toy chest near the hearth, totally losing all interest in the brawler.
Thomas released a massive, shaky breath. He slowly stood up from the wooden table, looking incredibly relieved. He turned his attention toward the kitchen sink area.
"Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Hemlock," Thomas said respectfully, offering a deep, formal bow. "That was the finest apple pie I've ever tasted. You have my profound gratitude."
May smiled warmly over her shoulder, pausing her final cleanup of the kitchen area, since Jacob had already helped complete the dishes.
She wiped her soapy hands on her cloth apron. "You're very welcome, Thomas. We always maintain an open chair for Jacob's friends. If he hasn't told you already, you're always welcome to our home."
"I'm glad you liked the pie, too, just don't get into a fight with Bran over the last slice." She mentioned the last bit with a little wink as she focused back on her task, eliciting laughter from around the room.
Jacob pushed his chair back from the table. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the floorboards, immediately catching the attention of the surrounding group as their laughter died out.
He gave Oren, Mira, Bran, Sera, and Thomas a subtle, deliberate nod. He jerked his head toward the back door. The silent signal was perfectly clear. The time for their first official party meeting had arrived.
The small side door to the barn creaked loudly as Jacob pulled it open. He led the small group into the dim, earthy interior.
The scent of dried hay and old leather hung thickly in the warm evening air. Jacob struck a match, lighting the tarnished brass lantern hanging from its central wooden pillar.
Golden light flooded the cleared center of the floor, revealing several overturned crates and thick hay bales arranged in a rough circle by Jacob and Thomas before dinner.
"Have a seat," Jacob offered, gesturing to the makeshift chairs. He leaned against a sturdy support beam, intentionally placing himself between Thomas and the rest of the group to act as a bridge between his new friend and his current friends.
Bran chose not to sit down. The stocky boy, smelling distinctly of machine oil and apple pie, marched straight past the seating circle and went directly to the freshly organized tool bench. He picked up a heavy iron wrench, turning it over in his calloused hands with loud, vocal appreciation.
"You really cleared this workspace out perfectly, Jacob!" Bran yelled, his booming voice echoing off the high rafters. He turned around and pointed the heavy wrench directly at Thomas. "I'm Bran. I saw your leather hand wraps earlier. What kind of reinforced gauntlets are you using to punch stone-hide monsters without shattering your wrists?"
Thomas blinked, entirely taken aback by the loud and sudden interrogation regarding his combat gear. "I just use hardened beast leather from the wolves on the first floor of our dungeon and boiled tree sap from the ironbark trees of the second floor. I can't put the pieces together, but there's a party with a nice healer who has a secondary crafting class that I find quite often on the second floor. She's the one who told me what to gather, and then she put these wraps together as a pair of gauntlets."
"While I'm sure her secondary class has served you well so far, we'll need to upgrade that immediately," Bran declared loudly, tossing the wrench back onto the bench with a heavy clatter. "I'll upgrade your leather gauntlets into proper iron knuckles before we delve."
Looking at the rest of the group, Bran declared in the same boisterous attitude, "That goes for the rest of you as well! If you've got a need for reinforced gear, bring it to me. I can't forge you any sort of gear, but I can easily provide upgrades from anything the blacksmiths and leather workers make for you. And I bet Jacob would be willing to enchant the gear for you as well; this whole thing is his idea, after all."
Jacob smiled with a nod as he looked over the rest of the group shuffling into their own seating positions after being briefly shocked by Bran's sudden declarations.
Sera gracefully took a seat on a soft hay bale near the lantern. She smoothed down her simple skirt and offered Thomas a warm, gentle smile. Her perceptive eyes scanned the fresh cuts on his face, the soot staining his clothes, and the stiff way he held his torso.
"Please forgive Bran," Sera said softly, her soothing voice acting as a stark contrast to the loud tinkerer. "He tends to think entirely with his tools. I'm Sera. It's honestly wonderful to have you join us tonight, Thomas. Those bruises look quite painful. Once my mana fully regenerates this evening, I would be happy to mend them for you."
Thomas swallowed hard, his defensive posture melting slightly under her genuine, unprompted kindness. "Thank you, Sera. I'm used to the pain, but healing would be nice."
Oren stepped into the lantern light. He hadn't taken a seat like the rest.
The swordsman stood with a straight posture and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked at Thomas with a critical, appraising gaze.
"I'm the one who told Jacob we needed you," Oren stated clearly, his voice carrying a bit of authority. "A six-person party is the standard for efficient dungeon clearing, and we lacked a dedicated vanguard. The fact that you've been surviving the F-rank gate alone for this long proves you possess the raw survival instincts we require for the front line. I'm Oren, as you already know. Contrary to what our previous fight might have suggested, I handle the blade work and coordinate our tactical formations."
Thomas straightened his back, meeting Oren's steady gaze with newfound confidence. He recognized the tone of a fellow frontline fighter. "I can hold the line, for sure. I'm good at taking a hit and keeping aggro."
Then he grinned, "Although, I'm sure you understand my combat ability better than most might."
Oren gave him a serious nod while maintaining eye contact.
Jacob smiled, watching the interactions unfold from his spot near the wooden beam. He looked around the circle, but one person was missing from the light.
Mira stood just outside of the lantern's glow. She leaned against a shadowy wooden stall in the far corner of the barn. Jacob figured if any of the rogues he had met thus far had a chance to evolve their class into a shadowalker, like his bodyguard, then it would likely be the silent, brooding girl.
She had not yet introduced herself as she remained silent, her dark eyes tracking every tiny movement the brawler made.
"You drop your left shoulder whenever you take a deep breath," Mira's voice suddenly cut through the shadows. The tone was sharp and completely devoid of standard pleasantries. "Are your ribs cracked, or are you just lazy with your guard?"
The barn went silent as her words rang through the rafters. Thomas stiffened as he squinted into the darkness, trying to locate the exact source of the sudden critique. He squared his shoulders, deliberately ignoring the flare of pain in his side.
"I've got three deeply bruised ribs from a hobgoblin club two days ago," Tomas answered firmly, his voice gaining a hard, defensive edge. "I keep my guard tight when it actually matters."
Mira stepped slowly out of the shadows. The flickering lantern light illuminated her serious, unsmiling face and gave Thomas a good look at her dark eyes and midnight black hair. She stopped walking and held his defiant gaze for a serious moment. She searched his own dark eyes for any sign of weakness or hesitation.
Finding none, Mira gave a single quick nod of approval.
"Good," Mira said quietly. "Pain is temporary, but a dropped guard is fatal. We can't have our second frontliner dying on our first delve. I'm Mira, and I kill the things that you distract or the things that might want to ambush you."
Thomas let out a slow breath, nodding respectfully to the deadly girl. He turned his attention back to Jacob, a look of disbelief and newfound belonging washing over his battered face.
"Also," Mira spoke up before Thomas shifted his attention, "Where did you see that hobgoblin? I was sure I was keeping them confined to the caves, and Oren was supposed to take care of any that made it past me."
Thomas looked to Oren, who gave him another quick nod, indicating he really had been taking up the task.
"Well, I've seen them from time to time just west of our dungeon, near the swamps. They seem to like the muddy areas over there, and this one was eating a crock." He replied.
"That's weird," Oren was the one to speak up this time, "Besides me, the county militia should be in the west. I wonder how they are getting past all of us all the way up near the swamps. I'll let my master know what you've seen."
Thomas nodded, and he noticed Mira seemed content with the exchange. But, he did add a bit of insight from his experiences with the goblins, "From what I know, from my own experience and what I've heard from the adventurers, these goblins are really good at sneaking through the brush. They might just be sneaking around, but also hiding when you are both out hunting."
Oren nodded in appreciation and turned back to Jacob.
"Alright," Jacob said, clapping his hands together once to focus the newly formed group. He pushed off the wooden support beam and stepped into the circle. "Now that the introductions are finished, we need to discuss the exact logistics for our first official delve."