Dungeon Clear
"Sword... come out, sword...!"
"Does begging like that actually work?"
"No idea."
I clasped my hands together in earnest prayer before the core as it shifted and reshaped itself over and over. Please, let it be a decent sword this time!
But Noah promptly doused my hopes.
"Statistically speaking, an 8th-rank dungeon has a very low probability of producing a high-quality artifact."
"That's dungeon discrimination!"
"It is simply the truth. Even if we were fortunate enough to draw a combat-type artifact, its performance would likely be mediocre at best."
"Tch."
If Noah said so, it must be so. We had already earned profits that far eclipsed the average haul from an 8th-rank dungeon — maybe asking for more was just plain greed.
When I let my clasped hands fall, Lena looked up at me.
"Your sword still looks fine to me, Mister."
"It's been feeling a little unreliable lately, that's all."
"Didn't you say it was an artifact? The one you got from the ruins where you found Noah Unni?"
"Well, technically it qualifies as a relic in the dictionary sense, but its actual performance isn't artifact-grade. It's just a durable, sharp sword."
Just as not all artifacts are created equal, neither are all relics. To deserve the title of Relic — the tier above artifacts, essentially the pinnacle of performance — a piece had to possess Outsider-class qualities: something impossible to reproduce even through magic or artifacts.
Considering my current sword had been sliced clean through by the Goblin Chief's blade-qi(?) back in the day, it was probably of even lower quality than the shield Lena carried. Twenty gold coins, tops.
"Guess I'll just commission a new one with the money we made this trip... ah, it's almost done."
As I spoke, the core seemed to advance to the final stage of artifact formation, compressing further while glowing brighter and brighter.
Though the shape it was taking seemed awfully small?
Compressed and compressed again, until the core had shrunk to a size smaller than a thumbnail — and then it spat out its product.
Tok.
"What is this?"
"It appears to be a seed."
"It's just a plain old seed."
I examined the tiny artifact(?) resting in my palm. The light the core had been radiating had faded, making it hard to see, but no matter how I looked at it, it seemed like nothing more than an ordinary seed.
Noah took it, turned it over this way and that, then tilted her head with a soft click.
"Nothing like this appears in the artifact encyclopedia. Since it came from a core, it can't be an ordinary seed, but..."
"Not in the encyclopedia? Then maybe it's an unregistered artifact."
Unregistered artifacts earned a set bounty once you registered them in the encyclopedia. Of course, you had to have them appraised by the guild's resident appraiser first, certifying that no one had ever discovered the artifact before.
Since the encyclopedia Noah had read was the guild's latest edition, this was almost certainly an unregistered artifact.
But what kind of seed could it be?
"Could it not be a seed of the Tree of Longing?"
"Oh, that actually makes sense. But do artifacts even come in a form like this?"
"Hmm... consumable artifacts do exist. However, the artifacts a core produces aren't necessarily tied to the dungeon's monsters... the more I think about it, the more I believe Lena is right this time."
"If a seed can grow into a monster, then calling it an artifact is fair enough."
...But wait, wasn't this seed dangerous? If we planted it without thinking and the enormous thing we fought came sprouting out—
"I'm definitely getting it properly appraised before planting anything."
"That would be wise. If a monster we created appeared inside Bolston, it would be generously punishable by death."
"Can we go outside now? It keeps getting darker — I'm about to lose my mind!"
"Yes, yes."
Lena had a point. The only light in this pitch-black chamber was the faint glow leaking from the exit. We'd claimed our final bonus, so it was time to leave.
I carefully tucked the seed into the small pouch inside my breast pocket, took up the cart piled high with materials from the dungeon, and made my way toward the exit.
Woooeeeing...
A strange resonant hum drifted from the exit, awash in white light. Just as we had on the day we entered the dungeon, we took each other's hands and pressed our palms against it.
Whirr-!
The familiar suction swallowed us whole.
...
Whooooo...
The sound of a fierce wind racing along a mountain ridge. The air against my skin was bone-chillingly cold, raising faint goosebumps on forearms that had grown used to a gentler climate. I opened my eyes slowly and saw the exact spot where we had first entered the dungeon.
"Nothing eventful this time!"
"Guess not."
Our second teleportation had gone off without a hitch. No sensory disorientation, condition perfectly normal, and every last piece of luggage had arrived intact.
"Phew... dungeon cleared!"
"Yay~"
"Hold on. Someone is here. Concealing themselves."
As I was checking the luggage and putting my winter coat back on, Noah spoke curtly and nocked an arrow to her bow in a flash. Half-swathed in my coat in a thoroughly awkward state, I drew my sword and followed her gaze.
...On closer inspection, the empty air — where nothing should have been — was shimmering faintly.
Invisibility magic? Bandits??
Just as I sharpened my guard and began forming my blade-qi—
"Sharp eyes, all of you. 'Tis I."
"...Mister coachman?"
A middle-aged man popped out of thin air with both hands raised high. He was the coachman who had hauled the guild's wagon all the way to the foot of the mountain where the dungeon lay. But hadn't he said he'd wait at the bottom of the mountain?
The coachman scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Well, you see... I am, in a manner of speaking, an overseer."
"An overseer?"
"Someone who verifies whether a dungeon has been properly eliminated."
"Why would that... ah."
"You have guessed correctly."
A dungeon was unknown territory whose interior environment could not be predicted. From the guild's standpoint, this was the kind of commission where they couldn't demand physical proof of the dungeon's destruction from whoever accepted the job.
What could the guild even do if someone simply claimed it had been a dungeon that produced no byproducts or materials in the first place? They'd have no choice but to believe the word and pay out.
"With ordinary commissions, letting one or two false reports slide wouldn't matter much — the truth surfaces eventually. But dungeons grow stronger if left unattended, so there is a genuine need to verify their elimination."
"That makes sense. But why keep the overseer business a secret?"
"That is..."
Clip-clop, clip-clop...
We made our way down the mountain together with the overseer, continuing the conversation as we walked. According to him, the whole arrangement was a kind of reliability test — the guild observed whether a party taking on its first dungeon commission would faithfully carry out the task even without knowing an overseer existed. You might call it taking a look at how the sprout was growing.
"Wait, there are actually people who file false reports claiming they cleared a dungeon?"
"Astonishingly, they pop up with tiresome regularity."
"...That's genuinely shocking. Lying about something they'd get caught for so quickly?"
"The guild has its share of fools. They assume they won't be caught once or twice. And then... occasionally someone attempts a rather more ingenious approach."
"Like what?"
"For instance... hmm. Some make contact with criminal organizations, sell information about the dungeon's location for a fee, and let the organization clear it themselves..."
Ah. So they collect the guild's completion reward without lifting a finger, plus a tidy sum for the intel on top. Double reward. Utterly shameless.
"That's vile. And in a case like that, they'd have to maintain the relationship to keep the secret, wouldn't they? They'd probably keep pulling the same trick over and over."
"Clever of you! Exactly as you say. That scheme has been exposed several times now. Tch... The guild operates dungeon survey teams partly to keep artifacts and materials from flowing into those illegal organizations, but these criminals are doing the very opposite — it's practically treason."
"The guild has it rough."
"Haha. Nothing compared to the dangers you all face. Speaking of which — it looks like you stripped that dungeon to the bone. I wonder if it will all fit in the wagon..."
The overseer cracked a joke, stealing a glance at the contents of the cart I was pulling. It was certainly a lot. Without Aura, we wouldn't even have dreamed of hauling this much back.
"Oh, but from now on, will there be a separate overseer attached along with the coachman?"
"That's a secret."
"Well, I suppose with staffing constraints they can't send an overseer every time. So they'd take the form of surprise inspections instead."
"..."
The overseer answered my speculation with silence. Must be right, then. They'd probably randomize personnel too, to keep overseers from being bribed.
Still, no harm in staying friendly.
In the spirit of goodwill, I offered the overseer a few honey candies Noah had made from the Desert Honey. Even if this wasn't quite the true Middle Ages, it was still an era where sweetness was a luxury, and the overseer happily popped the candy into his mouth. When I mentioned it was good for the body besides, he practically beamed.
By the rules, he shouldn't accept anything from me at all... hmm, the guild's regulations have their loopholes too.
Even in the modern era, people who couldn't uphold professional ethics were a dime a dozen. In a world like this, being only this corrupt would put him firmly in the top tier.
...
Exactly one week later, we returned to Bolston.
The overseer, who had initially devoted himself strictly to his coachman role to hide his identity, eventually couldn't contain his boredom and regaled us with assorted incidents and gossip from inside the guild — which made the trip home considerably less tedious than the one out.
The wagon bearing the guild's crest, as always, passed the ordinary citizens queuing at the main gate and headed for the dedicated entrance, where only a light inspection awaited...
"Hold. We will inspect the interior."
"...We're returning from a dungeon commission. Here, see the paperwork."
"No. No exceptions. What are you waiting for? Search it!"
"Yes, sir!"
...?
Normally the inspection was genuinely perfunctory, but today the guards — having perhaps eaten something wrong — ransacked the wagon top to bottom. The soldier who appeared to be the gate guard captain merely repeated "no exceptions" like a parrot, even as the overseer waved the documents in protest.
"...All clear!"
"You didn't check the floor."
"Ah. Apologies, sir."
The guards went so far as to smear dirt on themselves searching the wagon's floor. And not with a mere once-over glance, either — they prodded at it with sheaths and the like, as if checking for hidden cavities. Come to think of it, the line stretching from the gate had seemed unusually long today... had security been tightened?
In any case, we had nothing to hide, so the inspection concluded without incident. The overseer sidled up to the guard captain, discreetly slipped him a few silver coins, and spoke carefully.
"What on earth is all this about?"
"...You haven't heard the news?"
"As I said, we've just come from a dungeon. It's been two weeks since we were last in Bolston."
"Hmm... well, everyone who matters already knows, so..."
The guard captain glanced around needlessly, then brought his lips close to the overseer's ear. With my enhanced hearing, the whisper came through clearly.
"Disappearances."
"Whose?"
"The children... of the esteemed ladies and gentlemen residing in the Inner Castle."
"...Children, plural?"
"That makes three now."
Gasp.
The overseer drew in a sharp breath of shock. It hadn't been so long since the Count's youngest daughter was abducted — and now this was happening?
The guard captain grumbled on.
"Thanks to which, security's tighter than a drum. You lot have it easy, coming in. The ones further in, inspecting everyone leaving the city — it's chaos over there, I hear."
"...Can one even leave the city in this situation?"
"Can't exactly seal off a castle this size completely, can we? Either way, the men assigned to the outbound gates must be dying right now. I hear they're even conducting inspections with magical means."
"Good grief... what a mess. We'll be on our way, then."
The overseer gave a knowing shake of his head and climbed back up to the coachman's seat. The wagon rolled slowly forward with a gentle rattling. Perhaps thanks to the silver coins, the guard captain had grown oddly amiable, and he called out softly after the moving wagon.
"Best head straight for the guild! The knights are patrolling the city conducting surprise inspections!"
The coachman — no, the overseer — offered a small nod in place of a farewell. True to the captain's word, the wagon pressed through the congested zone near the main gate, receiving yet another round of heightened inspections, and entered the city proper.