He reached what most likely was the end of the road: a dead end, a pedestal and a gem on top, glowing green. That must be the reward. The gold at the end of the rainbow.

  [QUEST ITEM FOUND: Emerald of Passage]

  He grabbed the stone, removing it from the pedestal. As he should have guessed, the floor opened up.

  "Fuck this shit."

  And he ended up sliding down something like a stone slide, toward the darkness.

  He told himself, over and over, that the slide wasn't taking him to certain death. It couldn't be like that, it didn't make sense, because it was obvious it had been prepared, that it was part of the obstacle course. A shiny lure on a pedestal that, when moved, activated a trap. It was a very old, predictable trick. If he'd thought about it a bit before moving, he would have done the same, because he hadn't seen another way to continue, but the thing is he probably would have guessed it.

  Everything was a tutorial, nobody died in a tutorial, and he wasn't afraid. He wondered if everything he'd just thought was a lie. But soon he stopped thinking about anything, as he reached the end of the road.

  The bottom was illuminated by the same stones as always. There didn't seem to be an exit, no matter how much he looked around. He wondered if the gem, which somehow he still hadn't dropped, was really worth anything or had just been a trap. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Climb back up? Because seriously he didn't see any way to continue. Dead end on one side, and on the other, and on the other. Maybe it was just a dead end.

  At first glance, there could be a hidden door, a passage. With his sword forward, he approached the wall, cautious, poking it, hoping to discover a door, if it existed. But well, it was as acceptable an assumption as any other. He had to do something to simply act and think less about the fear that corroded him with each passing second. If he had to die, he'd prefer a thousand times to die torn apart. He didn't want a slow death, running out of oxygen, without food, buried alive.

  Oh, no, no, no, no. Why the fuck couldn't he stop thinking about the worst possible thing?

  Minutes later, or maybe just a few seconds, his mind went blank. Which was good, because there was no need to think. It was even counterproductive, given the circumstances. And what had happened? What were those circumstances? Well, an arm had come out of the wall like a zombie emerging from its grave. The next three seconds proved that, in fact, wasn't metaphorical.

  Eight zombies, no more and no less, came out of the fucking walls like nothing, as if the stone were as solid as grave dirt. But what the fuck? He knew all this was strange, but not that much, not that much.

  "A true explorer has to be prepared for anything," said an irritating voice that seemed to come from inside his head. "He must take advantage of his circumstances and the environment to seize victory. It's not all about numbers."

  "Who are you?" James asked, preparing for the fight, raising his shield and sword. The zombies were getting closer.

  "Consider me something like your smartphone's voice assistant. Although don't be scared, eh, just for this dungeon. I'm not going to be constantly telling you 'Hey, listen.' Where was I? Ah, yes. A dungeon explorer has to be prepared for anything. You'll say, how unfair, how am I going to take them down with a wooden shield and sword? Well, life is unfair and you have to manage anyway. Good luck. Bye."

  The zombies had been advancing very, very slowly, taking their fucking time, but as soon as the voice said goodbye, they picked up the pace. Not too much, they didn't break into a run like marathon runners or anything ridiculous like that, but the change was noticeable. Anyway, it was scary. With "good luck," huh? Good luck and that's it. Some assistant.

  The one closest to him, as if sensing the proximity of fresh meat, roared and lunged a bit faster. James swung his ridiculous wooden sword, hitting him between the eyes. This threw the zombie back, but so what? It wasn't the same as killing it. Besides, there were seven of those sons of bitches, seven more. What was he going to do? What did they expect him to do? Beat in the skulls of eight fucking zombies with blows? Even if the wood were strong enough to do that, while he dealt with three or four, the rest would eat him for dinner. It wasn't realistic. The numerical superiority was too overwhelming, and he was a normal human being, without time to level up. And this was a tutorial? This absurd, impossible situation, a damn tutorial?

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  There has to be some way, he thought, some trick, something I can take advantage of. But what?

  He retreated, giving ground. The room wasn't very big, and seemed even smaller because of the presence of so many decomposing dead. For the same reasons, the light from the stones was ridiculous compared to the room's shadows. It felt like he could be swallowed in an instant if he lowered his guard. This shouldn't be like this, he thought.

  He jumped backward, barely dodging a swipe. Barely. It didn't cut a hair from his head, but it could have taken out his eyes. He retreated a bit more. His leg bumped into something, and then he had an idea.

  He slid under a pile of rubble that had fallen with him. One of the zombies tried to chase him. It was a small pile, but just enough to do the job. James kicked it at the right moment, making it collapse on top of it.

  "One less," he said.

  He didn't kill it, but it seemed to lack the strength to get out from under there. One less. The adrenaline, the feeling of superiority, were incredible. He turned against the remaining zombies, but that trick wouldn't work twice, for obvious reasons. Even against brainless enemies. So, how to deal with the remaining seven? How to get out of this without becoming meat for scavengers? Without falling lower than he'd already fallen before arriving here.

  The problem was obvious: he could probably handle all the zombies one by one or even two by two, but this wasn't any movie, they'd pile on him all at once. So the solution wasn't so obvious, or at least that's what he thought at first. Then he saw a gap in the wall. Part of him wasn't sure it had been there all along, but he could have overlooked it. Why not? With the adrenaline, the fear of dying, which was the same thing. But anyway, he didn't waste time. He got in there before he could think better of it. He could barely extend his arms in such a narrow gap.

  The zombies would have to come at him one by one. In theory it was the perfect solution to the numerical problem. In theory. Anyway, even if it worked perfectly as he'd thought, that didn't mean he was safe. For starters, he'd have less space to dodge, obviously, in here. But there didn't seem to be any other alternative besides fighting and dying against them all at once. So he'd manage, he'd have to manage.

  For a moment he thought the zombies wouldn't be so idiotic, despite lacking brains, that they wouldn't enter the gap with him. And with his heart in his throat, he watched and waited for a good while, but in the end the wait was worth it. One of them entered, arms extended toward him, growling, whimpering. It seemed like a dying man's scream, distorted and barely resembling a human sound. Even its vocal cords were rotten, it shouldn't be able to make any sound. But of course, the bigger problem was that it was moving despite being dead.

  The zombie scratched an arm and James shit himself with fear, but got his revenge right away, beheading it. One less, six remained. The number was still outrageous. Six sons of bitches, fuck.

  The next one entered the hole to try its luck. Come on, to do exactly the same thing, it couldn't do anything else. But the first zombie's corpse was in the way. That would make things a bit harder for the zombie and not him, at least that's what he thought. But that fact hadn't occurred to him before getting in here: that the gap was so narrow they didn't even have space to fall. He couldn't kill them all in this hole. He'd have to go out throwing the corpses back or down along the way.

  And here he was thinking too far ahead. Think only about the next step, he told himself. Think only about surviving or you're fucked, you fucking idiot.

  The zombie growled, lunging at him, arms extending in his direction over the motionless corpse of the first zombie. But it didn't touch him. James, of course, swung the sword, but his attack didn't reach the enemy either, because it stopped it with its teeth. Incredibly that half-rotten thing, that looked like it could collapse from a breath, stopped his sword with its teeth.

  Damn it, he thought. He tried to recover his sword by struggling, pulling the weapon with both hands, but he knew he was going to lose it. That thing was literally dead weight. So he dropped one hand and stuck it in the first zombie. Its bones gave way much faster. He ripped one out and used it as a bat, not to smash the other's skull, not completely, but just enough to weaken its bite, to recover his sword and finish the job. Blood came out as if spat by a sprinkler. It would have left him covered in blood if it weren't for the other zombie acting as a barrier. Although of course, it was a zombie, it had holes all over its body, it wasn't that good as a barrier either.

  That's what I meant. 5 more, 5 fucking zombies more. 5 times more doing this. Who would want to make a living as a dungeon explorer if this is just the fucking tutorial? Who wants to do this day after day? It was a good question, but wasn't it better, more exciting than sitting in a cubicle, more exciting than sitting in his chair and playing on the computer, no matter how much it had dominated his life for years? Of course it was, of course it was. Nothing else had made him feel so alive. His blood was gasoline and something had lit the fuse without remedy. It was madness, true, no sane person would want to repeat this, make it part of their daily routine. But, who said he was sane?

  He pushed the two corpses to the ground, as much as possible, given the narrowness of the hole. The bags of bones scattered here and there, a few hit his leg and stomach, but he barely felt pain.

  "Come at me, come at me you sons of bitches! I'm not easy prey!"

  He'd never shouted so much, never felt such a need. This time three zombies entered the gap, but so what? They had to attack one by one, only they weren't going to give him a break between attempts. So what? He could do it and he would. How many nights had he stayed awake, grinding. If he had anything that could be called talent, something applicable in real life, it was persistence, dedication. Only with things that interested him, of course, like everyone. And those things hadn't aligned with what suited him, at least in a monetary sense. But now they did, now everything was in place, ready for him to take it.