The young woman looks at the ground and goes silent. She lets out only the occasional soft groan, her shoulders shaking. You say nothing about it but take a quick glance at your companions.

“Er, ah, r-right. I think it’s…just fine,” your cousin says, shooting a hesitant look at Half-Elf Scout.

“Good by me,” he says with a wave of his hand. “Heck, kinda feel like I’d curse myself if I complained. So why not?”

You nod at them, then inform the young woman that you’re searching for a bishop to join the party.

“What…?” she says, glancing up in surprise at that title.

You tell her that according to what you’ve heard, bishops are the only clerics granted the ability to identify items. To be a bishop, one would inevitably have mastered at least some magic, so to have one around would be heartening.

“Ah—ahem, there’s no need to fuss over me. I’m used to being laughed at…” She smiles weakly, almost sulking, and then her lightless eyes drift toward you. “If… If you would like to have an item identified, there’s no need for all this show. I’m more than willing to help you.”

From the way she behaves, you can imagine how this young woman has been treated. You shake your head—You misunderstand —and ask if she doesn’t know any bishops.

“I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid not. There are no bishops among my clientele…”

‘No, no.’ You shake your head once more. ‘Is there not a bishop before our eyes?’

This provokes a look of surprise from the young woman, and she stares at you. Her features, you note, are statuesque. Or would be without the wounds around her eyes— No, in fact, even so. Perhaps more so.

“But—but I’ve never even been into the dungeon yet… And I was defeated by goblins…!”

“Y’ain’t the only one who’s never set foot in the dungeon,” Half-Elf Scout reassures the terrified young woman. “But so what?” He laughs. “Neither has the captain or Sis here. Like little birds just leaving the nest, all of us.”

“He’s right,” your cousin says, calmly taking up the theme with a smile. “I’m an untested wizard, and my little brother—” Your cousin. “You can see he’s all talk so far… Sigh!” Your second cousin lets out a dramatic sigh but makes it look natural. “If we had a cleric around to put him in his place every once in a while, I’d sure feel better about things!”

………

You refuse to unreservedly agree with your second cousin, but it’s true that you need a healer. You limit yourself to giving your second cousin a good glare, then clear your throat before finally speaking again. You tell the young woman that if she’s willing, you would be happy to have her as a member of your team.

“—…!”

The young woman is flummoxed for a second by your suggestion, but then her lips draw into a line, and she reaches out uncertainly. You offer your own rough hands in response, feeling her slim fingers touch your palms. Their grip is weak, and they tremble slightly, but…

“If you’ll have me, then gladly,” she says, and for the first time, she gives you a heartfelt smile. You answer by clasping her hands firmly.

*

“So how about we have a little look-see at the temple?” suggests Half-Elf Scout when he judges that Female Bishop has begun to calm down. “Might be able to pick something up. Divine guidance, y’know?”

You don’t particularly have any better ideas, so you nod your agreement. You each take some coins out of your purses and pay, then leave the tavern behind.

“If we’re going to form a party, it’s going to be everyone’s money.” Your cousin, walking along in her high heels (!), has the frustrating habit of occasionally saying something insightful. True, the cost of gear—weapons and armor, items, and other things that will contribute to everyone’s collective chances of survival—will be a shared concern. With an eye on the future, you should probably pool your resources, and the first thing you’ll do is buy your cousin a new pair of shoes.

“Aw, but they’re cute. It’s fine. And the dungeon has a stone floor, right?”

Curse this second cousin of yours. It’s impossible to argue when you’re not sure if she’s joking.

You keep discovering more things you don’t know about this town and about the dungeon. Then again, you just got here. Maybe it’s not something to lose any sleep over.

“…I’ve been to the temple here once, to pay my respects,” Female Bishop says softly, interrupting your thoughts. “I remember it as a place overflowing with adventurers, so perhaps we’ll find someone…”

From the fact that the staff she holds depicts the symbol of the sword and scales, you know she worships the Supreme God. But which deity does this fortress city’s temple primarily worship?

“The Trade God,” Female Bishop adds pointedly. She almost sounds excited; maybe she’s pleased to be able to help. “The patron deity of wind, commerce, and travel. Ahem…” This second part of her speech is rather quieter, as though she suddenly realized how she might be coming across and grew embarrassed.

“Well, that sounds profitable!” Half-Elf Scout replies. “After all, travel and commerce mean meetings and money!” You look around, trying to decide which way to go. Every city and fortress has something—a shrine, a temple, or in smaller places, a chapel. The object of worship may vary from place to place, but there’s always at least one. It seems a refuge for prayer is needed wherever people go to battle. Even if you personally don’t completely understand it.

Your feelings as an individual, though, are not the issue; from a practical perspective, you fully comprehend the need for healers. It was your own good fortune that you met Female Bishop—the young woman who now trots along at the very rear of your formation. But spell slingers are few and far between. They are some of the only ones who can manifest their talent and intelligence directly into the world—in the form of magic.

“Look at all these shops. I thought it was just adventurers around here!” your second cousin marvels, gawking in amazement. Looking at her, you personally wouldn’t assume intelligence was a wizard’s primary trait…

Much as it pains you to admit it, though, she’s right. Most of the people milling around on the fortress city’s great main thoroughfare are bedecked in weapons and armor—they’re adventurers—but many aren’t. These other people, you suppose, must have been drawn to the city in the hopes of relieving the adventurers of some of the many riches they’d gathered out of the depths.

The streets of the fortress city are haphazard and hard to navigate; at first, you found it difficult even to go in a straight line. After five minutes of walking, it’s all too obvious that the city is a labyrinth unto itself.

It’s no surprise that the Trade God should have a temple here. After all, in the depths of the Dungeon of the Dead lies loot aplenty. Looking down the street, you see the obvious sorts of places: inns and taverns, armorers’ shops—but also places selling fancy clothes, restaurants, even the occasional gambling den. Yes, this makes sense. Without some way to spend your earnings, gemstones are just rocks, and gold coins are simply pretty bits of metal.

“C’mon—aren’t you embarrassed, gawking so openly like that?” your cousin says, elbowing you again when she catches you taking a particularly long look at what you suspect is a house where you might find female company. In her hand is an item you don’t recognize: a piece of cloth for tying hair back.

You question when she got it, to which she replies, “Just now,” and sticks out her bountiful chest proudly. “Geez, I know guys can be oblivious, but you’re worse than most. Here, come on.”

“Er? Oh…” Female Bishop looks confused after your cousin called out to her. “Me…?”

“Yes, you. Turn around, if you please.” Then your second cousin spins Female Bishop around and holds up the cloth. You think she’s about to tie back Female Bishop’s hair, but instead the cloth goes around her sightless eyes. “There, how do you like that? I tried to pick something that would feel nice.” Then your cousin takes Female Bishop’s hand and turns her back around. The vicious burns that robbed her of her sight are neatly covered by the bandage.

“I know I must have been…rather unpleasant to look at…” Female Bishop’s voice trembles with what seems like trepidation.

But your cousin sounds honestly puzzled as she shakes her head and replies, “Not at all. This way just makes you look mysterious—and pretty, to boot!”

Right? She smiles in your direction, looking for confirmation. From an expression of confusion, Female Bishop’s face scrunches up. Your cousin quickly puts a hand on her back. “S-sorry, was it wrong of me? If you don’t like black, we could get, uh, a white cloth, or blue, or…how about pink?!”

Female Bishop shakes her head, sending ripples through her golden hair. Half-Elf Scout grins. You let out a breath and smile. This is something about your cousin that you have unalloyed respect for, but…

Curse this second cousin of yours. You look well down the thoroughfare in an attempt to hide your smile.

That’s when it happens. A gust of wind blows down the street, carrying the stagnant air off into the sky. You close your eyes against the bracing wind, then follow it with your gaze as it rushes away into the heavens. That’s when you spot a spire towering beyond the nearby rooftops. They probably thought anyone would look up when the wind blew. For atop the tower stands a windmill, cranking noisily in the gusts of air.

Yes indeed. You nod once again.

This town did need a temple to the Trade God.

*

“Apostates, and stingy to boot—get out of here!”

You’re greeted by the words of a nun, her willowy impression (complete with modest endowment) is completely blown away by the force of her pronouncement as she flings open the doors.

“Dammit! Apostates, my ass, you greedy priests…!”

Perhaps the temple refused to lift a curse placed upon them in the dungeon, or to heal their wounds, or maybe the disagreement was over a Resurrection miracle. Whatever the case, an adventurer in full armor rushes out of the temple past you, carrying a companion.

Vast windows let in the light and diffuse it through a stone chapel, bathing everything up to the altar in somber illumination. This hardly looks like a place to be speaking of money. So when your cousin mutters, “I’m not sure what to say…,” you think you understand what she means.

Then again, you haven’t come to ask for healing. Whether your purse is light or your wallet thin, you have nothing to fear.

But the fortress city truly is a town of adventurers!