The common room of the inn was quiet in the early morning, the only sounds coming from a few half-asleep patrons nursing last night’s regrets over watered-down ale. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls.

  John, Kaia, and Thorin stood near the entrance, their packs strapped tight and weapons secured. The weight of their supplies was familiar now, a constant reminder that their journey was far from over.

  John pulled open his Lunch Bag of Holding, rummaging through its impossible depths before pulling out a strange, bright-orange flask. The thing was squat and ugly, like it had been designed by someone who had never actually seen a proper drinking vessel before.

  Kaia raised an eyebrow. “What in the hells is that?”

  John unscrewed the cap, filling the flask with Wakeroot Brew from a clay jug on the counter. The sharp, herbal scent wafted up, burning Kaia’s nose.

  “My to-go cup,” John said matter-of-factly.

  Thorin frowned. “You chose that color?”

  John took a deep sip and smacked his lips. “This is a perfectly fine color. Orange is close to red and that's my favorite color.”

  Kaia smelled deeply of the rich aroma. “You really came around to wakeroot brew. You hated it at first. It's not as good as "Cow Fee...?”

  "Coffee" John corrected " And no it's not but when in Rome..."

  "This is Bjornfell John" Thorin said

  John shrugged. “If we’re not eating breakfast before we leave, I need my caffeine. This bad boy keeps it hot, too.” He shook the flask with a grin.

  They stepped out into the crisp morning air, the sky just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. Bjornfell was waking up, and as they walked through the winding streets, villagers took notice.

  People waved and called out to them as they passed.

  “Good luck in the dungeon!”

  “Come back in one piece!”

  “Try not to set anything on fire this time!”

  John put a hand over his heart. “That was one time.”

  Thorin snorted. “One time here.”

  Kaia shook her head. “It’s nice, though. To leave a place on good terms.”

  They passed through the final stretch of Bjornfell, the great wooden gates looming ahead. The guards gave them nods of respect, stepping aside as they neared.

  John turned, looking back at the town one last time. “Alright. Last chance to back out and become turnip farmers instead.”

  Kaia smirked. “Tempting, but no.”

  Thorin cracked his knuckles. “Not enough fighting in turnips.”

  John sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He took another long sip from his ridiculous orange flask.

  The gates creaked open, and they stepped beyond the walls, the open road stretching before them.

  But they weren’t the only ones watching.

  From the shadows of an alley near the gate, a figure sat astride a dark warhorse. The beast’s coat was pitch-black, its eyes gleaming like coals in the dim morning light. The rider—cloaked in midnight leathers, his face obscured beneath a hood of shadowed fabric—watched the trio go.

  The hooded man's gaze followed them, silent, unmoving.

  Then, without a sound, he turned his horse and disappeared.

  ***

  The morning sun bathed Bjornfell in golden light as John, Kaia, and Thorin stepped onto the well-worn road leading out of town. Their packs were full, their spirits high, and for the first time in days, the weight of survival didn’t press so heavily on their shoulders. The goblin feast had been a well-earned reprieve, and now, they had a new challenge ahead—the ruins where the dungeon entrance was rumored to be.

  According to the maps, the journey would take two days on foot through rolling hills and sparse forests. The air was crisp, and the scent of damp earth lingered from the morning dew. Birds flitted through the branches, and for a while, the only sound was the rhythmic crunch of boots against dirt.

  After a stretch of silence, Thorin turned to John, curiosity in his deep voice. "So, what’s level ten like?"

  John smirked, raising his hand and summoning his stat screen with a casual flick of his fingers. The glowing interface appeared in the air before him, filled with numbers and symbols that only he could read.

  "Let’s see…" he mused, scanning his stats. "I got some nice upgrades. First off, Shadow Step—lets me move real damn fast in short bursts, like stepping between the flickers of a candle." He grinned. "It’s not quite teleporting, but in a fight? It's gonna feel like it."

  Kaia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "That sounds… unsettling."

  "That’s the idea," John said. "Then there's Rogue’s Reversal—basically, if I dodge an attack cleanly, I can hit right back before they even realize they missed. Think of it as turning defense into offense."

  Thorin let out a low whistle. "That’s deadly."

  John nodded. "And Enhanced Stealth—I was already sneaky, but now? Shadows love me. I can blend in like I’m part of the scenery. Even running, I barely make a sound. Not bad, right?"

  Kaia and Thorin exchanged impressed glances.

  "You’re becoming quite the force," Kaia admitted. "With skills like that, you’ll be even harder to pin down in a fight."

  Thorin chuckled. "Aye, but let’s see how well that ‘Shadow Step’ works when you’ve got a battle-axe swinging at your head."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  John smirked. "You offering to help me test it, big guy?"

  Thorin just laughed, shaking his head. "Not today. We’ve got a dungeon to find."

  With that, they pressed forward, excitement buzzing in the air. The road ahead stretched toward adventure, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

  ***

  The road to the dungeon wound through rolling hills and sparse woodland, the morning light filtering through the trees in golden patches. Birds called overhead, and the crisp air carried the scent of damp earth and pine. It was peaceful—too peaceful.

  John felt the shift first, that telltale prickle at the back of his neck. He raised a hand, signaling the others to stop.

  A rustling in the underbrush.

  Then a low growl.

  A pack of gnolls emerged from the trees, their hyena-like faces twisted into snarls. Their fur was mangy, their crude weapons little more than rusted blades and splintered clubs. Five of them. Not much of a threat.

  John cocked his head, glancing at their levels through his interface. Low. Really low.

  He exhaled, disappointed. “These guys aren’t even worth the effort.”

  Thorin rolled his shoulders. “So? Let’s just cut ‘em down and move on.”

  John held up a hand. “Actually… I wanna try something.”

  He drew his blades, twin daggers gleaming in the morning light, and took a steadying breath. His new skill was still untested in real combat. He’d had yet to train with it. This was a live-fire exercise he needed.

  The gnolls hesitated for a moment, confused by his confidence.

  Then, John vanished.

  A flicker of darkness—he reappeared behind the first gnoll.

  Before the beast could even register what happened, John drove both daggers into its back. The gnoll let out a choked yelp, crumpling forward—but before it even hit the ground, John was gone again.

  He shadow-stepped behind the second gnoll, his blades flashing. A quick slash across the throat, and the creature collapsed.

  The remaining gnolls howled in alarm.

  One lunged, slashing wildly with a jagged blade.

  John twisted at the last second, dodging just past the edge of the weapon—so close he could feel the wind off the swing—before driving his dagger straight into the gnoll’s ribs. The creature gurgled and fell.

  Another shadow-step.

  Another kill.

  Finally, three gnolls remained, and they were pissed.

  They rushed him all at once, weapons swinging in a flurry of wild attacks.

  John moved like smoke, his body twisting and weaving through the barrage. He wasn’t just dodging—he was predicting, anticipating, countering. Every missed strike left a gnoll open, and for each failed attack, he landed a precise, brutal counter.

  Dodge. Stab. Twist. Step. Slash.

  The final gnoll let out a guttural snarl, raising its rusted axe for a desperate, clumsy strike.

  John sidestepped, flipping his dagger into a reverse grip—and as the axe came down, he thrust his blade up, right through the gnoll’s chest.

  The beast staggered, twitched, then fell.

  Silence settled over the clearing.

  John stood amidst the fallen gnolls, completely unharmed.

  Kaia and Thorin stared.

  “…Holy hells,” Kaia muttered. “That was incredible.”

  Thorin folded his arms, nodding in approval. “Never seen you move like that before.”

  John flicked the blood off his blades and sheathed them, flashing a cocky grin. “Eh. They were low level. Fighting them was like kicking over a nursery.” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “But damn, that felt good. Pappa likes.”

  Kaia groaned. “Never say that again.”

  Thorin laughed. “Agreed.”

  John just smirked and crouched to loot the bodies. The gnolls didn’t have much—some coin, a few ragged trinkets, and a rusty dagger that might be worth something if cleaned up.

  Once they finished, they pressed on toward the dungeon, John feeling lighter, faster, stronger.

  This was just the beginning.

  ***

  The forest thinned out as they crested a rocky hill, revealing the ruins sprawled below—a crumbling skeleton of an ancient fortress, its weathered stone walls half-swallowed by nature. Vines coiled around broken columns, and moss blanketed shattered archways. Time had not been kind to this place. Broken statues, their faces worn smooth by wind and rain, lined what had once been a grand courtyard, now overgrown with weeds. A rusted iron gate, barely hanging on its hinges, swayed slightly in the breeze, creaking like a whisper from the past.

  John let out a low whistle. “Well, this screams ‘ominous death trap.’”

  Kaia adjusted her pack, scanning the ruins with a wary eye. “This is definitely the place?”

  Thorin nodded. “Has to be. Old ruins, out in the middle of nowhere? Classic dungeon setup.”

  John smirked. “Yeah, it’s got that whole ‘Indiana Jones meets Dark Souls’ aesthetic.” He pointed at a half-collapsed tower with jagged edges, its foundation split as if struck by a giant’s hammer. “Bet there’s a pressure plate somewhere just waiting to drop us into a pit of spikes.”

  Kaia sighed, stepping carefully over a pile of loose stone. “Why do you know so much about traps?”

  John shrugged. “Because someone’s gotta be the guy who warns the party before we all die horribly.” He hopped down onto a mossy slab, testing its stability. “Alright, let’s split up and find the entrance. My money’s on a big ominous door or a creepy staircase leading underground.”

  They spread out, carefully navigating through the ruins. Thorin shoved aside a collapsed beam, grunting as dust billowed up in a thick cloud. He coughed. “Remind me why we couldn’t pick an easier dungeon?”

  Kaia ran her fingers over the worn carvings on a standing pillar, tracing the faded symbols. “This place is old, but some of the markings still hold magic. The dungeon here is ancient.”

  John peered into what had once been a grand hallway, now little more than rubble-strewn ruins. “So… spooky ancient magic, lots of traps, potential treasure.” He nodded to himself. “Yup. This is definitely how people die in horror movies.”

  Kaia rolled her eyes. “Would it kill you to be serious for five minutes?”

  John grinned. “Maybe. But where’s the fun in that?”

  Thorin, now at the base of a toppled column, ran a hand along a thick tangle of roots. “Hold on—this looks different.” He crouched, brushing away the dirt to reveal smooth stone beneath. “Found something!”

  John and Kaia hurried over. Beneath the tangled roots lay a massive stone slab, partially buried in earth and debris. Deep, weathered carvings covered its surface, some of them faintly glowing beneath layers of grime. A chill lingered in the air around it, as if the stone itself held a memory of something long forgotten.

  John cracked his knuckles. “Alright, let’s crack this bad boy open. And if a giant rolling boulder tries to kill us?” He smirked. “I call dibs on saying ‘I told you so.’”

  The entrance to the vault stood cold and silent, half-buried beneath curling vines and moss. The stone door, circular and ancient, was carved with strange runes spiraling inward to a small keyhole-like indentation at the center.

  Thorin squinted at the symbols. "Doesn’t look like anything I recognize. Not dwarven. Not elven."

  Kaia knelt, running her fingers along the outer ring. "It’s adventurer script… I think. But some of it seems… odd."

  John scratched his head, tilting his head sideways to examine the symbols. "I know this… hold on. This is—wait—is that Latin?"

  Kaia blinked at him. "Latin?"

  "Yeah. Old Earth language. Scholars love to throw it around to sound fancy. I read Harry Potter, so basically, I'm fluent..." John knelt down, eyes narrowing as he slowly traced the inscription aloud. "Let’s see… For those who seek entrance…" He paused, struggling over a longer phrase. "…something about proving yourself…"

  Kaia leaned in, curious. "What does it say?"

  John stopped dead, squinting at the final part of the phrase. His lips twitched. "For those who wish to enter… you must have… big balls?"

  Thorin frowned. "What?"

  John stared at the stone, brow furrowing as he reread it. Then, with a loud bark of laughter, he stumbled back, nearly falling over. "No way. It actually says that! ‘You must have big balls.’"

  Kaia raised an eyebrow. "That can’t be right."

  John wheezed between laughs. "I swear to you. Magnas pilas habeas." He wiped his eyes. "I thought this was some ancient, wise challenge… nope. Just low-brow humor from whoever built this place."

  Thorin scratched his beard. "So… what do we do? I’m not carrying any balls."

  John, still grinning, stepped forward dramatically. He planted his hands on his hips and, in his best booming voice, declared to the vault in perfect Latin:

  "Ego magnas pilas habeo!"

  Kaia clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Thorin glanced between the two, confused. "What did you just say?"

  "I just told the door, ‘I have big balls.’"

  As if on cue, the stone began to rumble. The runes glowed faintly, spiraling with light as the vault door shuddered and slowly began to slide open.

  Thorin stepped back, staring as dust and gravel cascaded from the shifting stone. "…That actually worked."

  John gave him a smug look. "See? Sometimes, you don’t need a hero. You just need someone willing to yell ‘I’ve got big balls’ at an ancient door."

  Kaia finally let out a soft giggle. "I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that."

  John clapped Thorin on the shoulder. "Welcome to adventuring, my friend. Half deadly traps, half dumb jokes from long-dead pranksters."

  Thorin grunted. "I prefer the traps."

  John shrugged as they stepped into the dark corridor beyond. "Well, don’t worry. I’m sure there’s plenty of those waiting inside too."

  Kaia’s staff lit the path ahead as the vault door sealed behind them. As they walked, she glanced at John with a faint smile. "Still… it’s impressive you could read it at all. Maybe being from your world isn’t such a curse."

  John chuckled. "Oh, just wait until the next door asks for a password. I bet it’s something ridiculous like ‘password123.’"

  Thorin sighed. "I hope not. I’ll never understand adventurers."

  "You’re not supposed to." John grinned, ready for whatever strange challenge lay ahead.