A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

Before I realized it, the four of the adventurers had fallen into bickering. They crowded near the tavern's unlit hearth. The chill air and flickering torchlight cast the group in ominous relief, their raised voices echoing sharply off the stone walls.

For a moment, I quietly observed the group of adventurers from beneath one of the chairs.

The broad-shouldered man who seemed to be their leader was red-faced with fury, while the tall woman shifted her posture uneasily. Just behind them, a lanky and burly man hovered with uncertain looks, as if not sure whether to be angry or nervous.

None of them appeared to have much patience left.

"What do you mean he isn't here?" one of them snapped, slamming his fist on a wooden table. The sudden bang made a few of the other members in the group jump.

I, in my small black form, perked my ears while remaining tucked in the shadows.

"We definitely saw him come with us inside the Bottomless Inn," another adventurer growled, raking a hand through his dust-colored hair. He glanced around at the assembled team of nineteen. "We paid good coin for that '98% survival rate' veteran, and now he's a no-show? There are only nineteen of us!"

The leader scowled and began pacing in front of the cold, dark hearth. "Where the fuck is that bastard? The schedule showed that this dungeon had zero entrants. We should be a full 20 people!"

"Calm down," urged the female as her eyes darted nervously. "Maybe something happened to him?"

The leader spat on the floor, clearly unconvinced. "We have 19 people, which should be impossible in the dungeon records. We even spent so much coin following all his instructions when we hired the cooks and the cleaners. Even using his own damn name with the guild costed extra."

It seemed like there were only four adventurers. All the others were people they hired to ensure ensure they could get the rewards with little to no risk.

But because of the key person missing, murmurs of worry rippled through the small crowd of support staff.

They had been hired for this expedition based on the missing expert's guidance and reputation, and they had even accepted the job offer because of the expert's presence. Without him, this descent into the dungeon's tavern level felt suddenly much more dangerous.

I listened intently, a pang of guilt twisting in my chest. My curiosity had gotten the better of me, and I'd taken the spot meant for that gentleman.

It was true—I had meddled where I shouldn't have.

Now these people were terrified, and it was my fault. I had slipped into their dungeon expedition in the guide's place without thinking through the consequences, and now everyone was terrified of what was going to happen tto them.

For several heartbeats, I hesitated, my mind racing. Could I truly fill the shoes of a guide I had never met? But as I watched their argument descend into despair, I knew I could not remain hidden any longer.

Someone had to step up. Finally, I decided it was time to reveal myself.

The little black pug-like beast stepped forward out of the shadows. My heart pounded in my chest, but I kept my demeanor composed.

Clearing my throat softly, I spoke up in a polite, clear voice, "If I may—"

Every person in the room froze. The adventurers whipped around, hands on the wooden chairs and tables to use as weapons. Their eyes scanned the dim tavern floor, searching for the source of the unexpected voice.

"Down here," I added gently.

One of the support staff pointed with a trembling finger. "Th-there… that little black thing… it talked!"

All eyes followed. From their perspective, a small dusky-furred creature the size of a housecat sat by a support pillar, two round, gleaming eyes regarding them calmly.

Before anyone could react further, I let go of the Qi restraining my body, allowing a change that rippled under my fur to come forth. My form began to expand and stretch.

Dark fur lightened to a warm fawn color, the sooty blackness melting away from my coat. Bones and muscles elongated audibly. In seconds, what had been a tiny pug was now a towering canine figure. My head nearly grazed the low ceiling beams as I stood at my full height of seven feet at the shoulder.

A stunned hush fell across the tavern; not a soul had ever seen such a transformation, and I could feel dozens of disbelieving eyes fixed on me. My black muzzle and jowls were now level with their faces.

Several of the hired staff yelped in shock and stumbled back, knocking over chairs. One cook let out a little scream as he fell on his backside, eyes wide and panicked.

The adventurer leader instinctively brandished a knife he had gotten from the kitchen earlier.

Slowly, I lowered myself into a less imposing posture, sitting back on my haunches to appear less threatening. I dipped my massive head respectfully.

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"I would like to apologize," I said, dipping my head low, trying to make my voice as gentle as possible. "The guide you hired isn't here because… well, because of me. I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me and inadvertently took the spot meant for that gentleman."

A heavy silence followed my admission. The adventurers stared, slack-jawed. The leader's eyes were almost comically wide as he tried to process what he was hearing.

A talking beast had replaced their expert guide?

"You… took his spot?" the female adventurer echoed uncertainly. "What are you, exactly?"

I straightened up slightly, adopting what I hoped was a formal and reassuring demeanor. I knew appearances and authority mattered now to prevent panic.

In the most courteous tone I could manage, I introduced myself, "My name is Pophet, The Gentle Faith That Echoes—Sunmire's Sixth Heir." As I spoke my titles, I placed a broad paw over my chest in a polite gesture. My black nails glinted in the torchlight. "I will take responsibility for your lives and see this dungeon expedition through safely. You have my word."

A collective gasp rustled through the group. A few of the cooks exchanged astonished glances. One older cleaner actually bowed his head slightly upon hearing my titles, recognizing the significance.

Sunmire's heir was here? Offering protection?

The common folk among them, at least, seemed overawed by this revelation.

The adventurers, however, were less impressed.

The leader narrowed his eyes, suspicion and anger warring on his face. "Sunmire's Sixth Heir…" His lip curled. "So what? You're one of the holy mutts from the church?"

He pointed the knife at my fawn-colored chest. "We don't need a sermon or fancy titles. We need a guide who knows this hellhole! Unless you can fill his shoes, you're useless to us."

A few of the staff members gasped at the disrespect, one cook raising a hand to his mouth.

For an instant, I felt a flash of indignation at being called a 'mutt,' as it brought back some bad memories, but I clamped down on it. Getting into a shouting match would only prove his point.

I suppressed the urge to sigh.

I already expected skepticism. Adventurers of this sort rarely had much faith in Sunmire's religion, or any religion for that matter.

Most low- and mid-ranking adventurers were essentially free-roaming mercenaries, living off adrenaline and coin. They respected the laws of the land when they had to, but they had little reverence for titles or the church.

This was only until an adventurer proved exceptional enough to be noticed and sponsored by a nation; otherwise, they would remain stubbornly independent.

"I understand your frustration," I said evenly, keeping my voice calm and level.

Despite the knife aimed at me, I did not rise from my seated position. My curly tail thumped once against the floor in a slow wag. "You have every right to be angry. I interfered, and now you feel betrayed. For that, I truly apologize." I lowered my head contritely.

The leader blinked, clearly not expecting the huge beast to be so… polite.

His knife wavered slightly.

I took the opportunity to continue. "However, what's done is done. Your hired guide isn't coming, through my fault, I admit. But I assure you, I have the knowledge and capability to replace his spot, albeit with a different approach."

I glanced around at the nervous faces watching me.

A tense beat passed.

The female adventurer looked between her leader and the giant beast-like entity in front of them. The other two adventurers hovered uncertainly; the stocky man muttered a curse under his breath, while the lanky one bit his lip, unwilling to meet his leader's eyes.

Several heartbeats thudded in my ears as I awaited a response.

At last, the lanky one cleared his throat. "We… we did swear to take on this dungeon run," he said quietly. "Backtracking now would waste all our preparation. And if… Sir Pophet… can truly say what he claims, maybe it's not a lost cause." He gave a weak, hopeful shrug.

The leader shot the archer a sharp look, but then another voice chimed in, this time one of the cooks, a middle-aged woman. "B-begging your pardon, sirs," she addressed the adventurers timidly, "but His, er… Sir Pophet's presence might be a blessing in disguise. I'm just a simple cook, but I've heard tales of Sunmire's heirs performing miracles and feats of protection."

She wrung her hands nervously, but pressed on. "If he says he'll take responsibility for us…"

A few other staff members nodded in agreement, emboldened by her words.

The adventurer leader looked around at his party and hired crew. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth. Clearly, he was not happy.

But he was also practical.

Continuing this problem now would only increase the risk of death. And staring into my calm, solemn brown eyes, the leader perhaps realized that picking a fight with a creature that could grow to this size might not end well.

He slammed the knife onto a table, making it stand on its tip. "Fine," he muttered. "We go ahead as planned. But mark me." He pointed a finger at my snout instead. "If any of my people die because of your meddling, no title or heirship will save you from me."

I inclined my head gravely.

Inside, relief washed through me, but I maintained a respectful tone. "That is acceptable. You have my word that I will do everything in my power to justify your trust and keep you all safe."

A shaky peace settled over the gathering.

The leader stomped off towards the bar with a final disgruntled huff, and the tension in the room began to ebb.

The other adventurers exhaled and moved to calm the jittery staff or double-check the ingredients in the kitchen. Conversations resumed in hushed tones, the initial panic giving way to cautious, if uneasy, acceptance of this new turn.

As they set about their tasks, I caught a few of the staff shooting me glances of mingled awe and relief.

I remained where I was for a moment, still seated on my haunches in the middle of the tavern floor. I felt a flush of both shame and determination warming my chest.

This was far from the noble adventure I'd imagined when I left Mira and Rinvara.

Curiosity had led me to infiltrate their expedition on a whim, yes, but now that whim had put me in a position of real responsibility.

I had claimed responsibility for their lives—now I had to live up to that promise.

After a moment, I gently lowered myself to lie on the floorboards. The tavern, known colloquially as the Bottomless Inn due to its neverending customers, would serve as our foothold in the dungeon.

The expedition settled into their unusual routine at the Bottomless Inn.

By nightfall of the first day, the tavern was open for business—if one could call serving otherworldly patrons "business."

The four adventurers took shifts of six hours to oversee operations, while the six hired cooks took shifts of eight hours each pair. There were three cleaners, three wait-staff, and three bartenders who also did the same.

I stationed myself near the entrance, stretched out all sphinx-like against the wall. In my full gigantic form, I almost looked like an oversized statue of a flat-faced dog guarding a temple gate.

The tavern's interior itself slowly began to shed its long-held gloom.

In the dim glow of a few newly lit lanterns, the common room's appearance transformed. Cobwebs were swept from the rafters, and the savory scent of stew bubbling in the kitchen started to overtake the lingering odors of dust and stale ale.

The wooden floorboards, scarred by age, had been scrubbed clean and now reflected the orange flicker of the hearth fire they'd managed to kindle in the once-cold fireplace.

The Bottomless Inn was beginning to feel almost cozy and oddly welcoming—at least in a peculiar, haunted sort of way.