The Archwarden’s chestplate cracked. The final shot struck the exposed seam and went through. The keystone failed. Then the rotunda detonated.

  When the noise finally died, nothing stood in the center of the hall.

  I hadn’t struck the Archwarden once.

  … Then again, I had told it how to die. Ceralis, it seemed, considered that sufficient contribution.

  Also, a Rare Plus earring? That probably just meant it was a higher-quality item than the regular rare ones, yet was not strong enough to qualify as an Epic item.

  Anabeth slid down the wall once the light finally left her hands, and she just… settled there. She rested her cheek against the creepy cold stone, and her eyes were barely opened.

  Yet, she still found it in her to clutch her new favorite skull earring, curling her fingers around it with unconscious insistence. I still hadn’t checked what it’d do. I had bigger problems to think about now.

  The pannier at my hip creaked once more. Her satchel was already looped over my shoulder. I was carrying everything, and I’d possibly have to carry her as well.

  I wanted to leave at least half of it.

  Ceralis did not.

  It had apparently counted this as training. I sighed, long and quiet, and bent to brace Anabeth under the arm. She made a small sound when I lifted her.

  Anabeth was possibly lighter than the pannier now.

  The corridor to the next chamber was longer than it had any right to be. I took something like a dozen steps, and the problem had already presented itself.

  I stopped because my legs refused to negotiate another step without terms, and I needed to adjust Anabeth as she kept drawing closer, tightening her hands across my gorget as if it were a handhold she had no intention of relinquishing. I didn’t think she was actually out of it.

  Something lunged out of the dark.

  I was immediately the target of a full-bodied shove meant to take my legs out. The world tilted.

  Then it didn’t.

  My boots skidded across grit-strewn stone and stopped.

  Three percent. That was all the resistance the skill provided, but the Saint had showered upon me with some kind of luck today.

  The figure immediately tried lunging again. This time, I caught his eyes. They were sharp enough to not belong to a simple dungeon scavenger or a panicked looter. This was a man who had done this before and expected it to work.

  I stared at him.

  The man’s foot came down wrong. His shoulders hunched. He had a blade with him, and it immediately dipped. His teeth clicked together. Then he took a step back like a terrified puppy.

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  Then I saw torchlights. The lights soon multiplied, filling the chamber slowly with an oily shade of orange as men stepped out from behind broken pillars and collapsed bone heaps, each carrying a guttering flame that pushed the darkness back just far enough to show steel and leather. Shadows leapt up the walls, stretching them into things larger and uglier than they were.

  I automatically counted eight ahead of me, with two more cutting off the corridor behind. The man in front of me made eleven, though he didn’t seem entirely present anymore.

  I should’ve accounted for this. The bandits must have seen us, but they were waiting for the moment we were at our weakest to strike.

  A voice carried across the chamber. “Tommy.”

  The man flinched.

  The speaker stepped forward into the light. He had to be the Bandit Leader Nosadiva.

  “You were told to wait,” he continued. “And you don’t rush someone who hasn’t drawn yet.” He looked back at me. “My apologies. He’s new to thinking past the next five seconds.”

  Nosadiva was broader than I’d expected, wrapped in layered leathers and a coat that had once been fine. He swept his eyes over me then said, “Saints preserve us, you weren’t kidding. That’s three separate burdens, isn’t it?”

  “You will put the Saints’ name out of your filthy mouth this instance, or face the wrath of his finest champion,” I intoned.

  One of the torchbearers took an involuntary step back, and a few men at the back shook. I saw a throat bob, a jaw clench, the brief and ugly moment where instinct suggested flight.

  The rest held.

  Nosadiva (or at least who I thought was Nosadiva) didn’t move at all.

  Nosadiva chuckled. “With all due respect, let’s not pretend this ends with you smiting anyone,” he said. “Set the load down,” Nosadiva said. “Slowly. No sudden movements.” He glanced at Anabeth, then back to me. “No one here is looking for a mess. Least of all me.”

  I stared at the man in front of me.

  This man was not much stronger than me, yet what worried me was his gears.

  Thirty-two defense. That light armor offered more DEF than what I was wearing.

  But didn’t know what they had. These things did not have any secondary effect triggered, which meant the bandits had looted a dead adventurer or cracked a cache they didn’t understand, stripped the valuables, and walked away thinking wearability were all that mattered.

  I must try to overwhelm them again. This was my only out.

  “Take one more step,” I said, “and I will make this chamber your burial register. I will break you slowly enough that the dungeon learns your names before it forgets you. Your bones will become loot for the next men.”

  Three of them didn’t react at all. Nosadiva, obviously, was one of them.

  That was it, then. This was as far as intimidation would carry me.

  I shifted my grip and nudged Anabeth with my shoulder. “Attend me,” I murmured.

  She rubbed at her eyes with one hand, smearing ash across her cheek as she blinked up at me.

  “…why is it orange?” she asked.

  Saints damn it.

  Nosadiva sighed theatrically and spread his hands. “Look. You cleared the keystone. That alone tells me you’re not some hedge fool. And clearly, you’ve already done the hard work, so let’s be sensible,” he continued. “Here’s what I want: enough salvage to pay my people and justify the risk. We leave the rest. You walk out alive, together.”

  This was not how a bloodthirsty bandit spoke. His words were measured and his terms were bounded. Even the way he corrected his man spoke of discipline. The guards at Branfield had painted Nosadiva as a butcher who preyed on the weak for coin and sport.

  There must be something the church wasn’t telling me.

  He was managing a bad situation with limited options, same as I was. It meant he could be reasoned with.

  I must talk my way out of this.

  “Now, gentlemen,” I placed Anabeth back down to her feet and raised a hand in front of me. “You do not want to make a mess here. I was looking for you. The Church is coming, and I would rather you heard it from me.”