Duja was a dungeon explorer.
Well, technically, he was part of a group that explored dungeons.
Dungeons were formed in caves, Caves infested with something strange, that only a few understood. No one knew what caused it.
Duja belonged to the Dungeon Removal Program, an organization established by the Kingdom of Hulada—a smaller kingdom neighboring Warduica, and Duja's birthplace.
He had recently received orders: to clear out the nearby dungeons in the Cleso Province, located in the north of Hulada. The kingdom wanted the area clean before an upcoming noble wedding—the union between the daughter of the Cleso House and the son of the Surdo House.
The marriage of Damien Stol Surdo and Cynthia Fal Cleso.
—
"Boss, you know we can't do much, right?" Duja said to Brobak, a towering man with an orange beard and a bald head who stood well above the younger Duja, who looked Shorter than Brobak and fatter than him, he had no beard of his own.
Brobak exhaled and grumbled, "I know. But really, these pesky nobles think they can command us to do anything—and that we'll just do it. Still… we need to."
Gloria walked up, brushing the dust off her gloves. "Boss, I've scouted the mountains. There's a stench nearby. We'll have to remove the infection there, at least."
Brobak thought for a moment, then said, "Send Carlo and Putra. Tell those two to start setting up camp."
He turned to Duja. "Duja, go to the Cleso estate and request permission to stay the night or two. If they disagree, tell them we won't remove the infection otherwise."
Duja grinned wide. "FINALLY, BOSS, YOU'RE SHOWING SOME GUTS!"
He swung onto his horse and rode off toward the city where the Cleso manor stood. It was about a twenty-minute ride.
When Duja arrived, the city was alive with color and noise. People bustled about, preparing for the grand wedding. He could see the excitement in the streets, children running, music echoing, but he also noticed the corners where the poor were shoved away, hidden from the eyes of the wealthy guests.
The middle class celebrated.
The rich enjoyed.
Duja pushed through the dancing crowd, nearly losing his balance several times.
"Dammit, let me through!" he growled, forcing his way past the people until he finally reached a building. He stopped, catching his breath, and looked up at the sign.
Little Angel's Inn.
"Man, I'm dying for a drink right now," Duja muttered as he pushed open the door.
The bell above the door chimed, a bit broken, a little creaky, and instead of bar chatter or music, he was greeted by… children.
"Eh?" Duja blinked, frozen as the kids surrounded him.
"Ohh, a fatty!"
The voice came from a chubby little boy with messy brown hairs.
"Woah, how cool! He has an axe!" Another boy said,
"Is he a dungeon explorer?"
A small girl with braids down to her waist gasped,
"Woahhhh!"
"Cooolll! Should we get Mother here? She's helping Runa take a bath!"
The speaker, a toddler barely taller than Duja's knee, bounced on his toes, his tiny hands waving with excitement.
"Hey, kids—what the hell are you doing in a pub?" Duja blurted out, utterly confused.
"A pub?" The braided girl tilted her head, her round eyes blinking. She turned to the boy beside her. "What's a pub?"
"Like a pubby! A doggy!" he said proudly. "Mother always says those are cute!"
"That's puppy," The chubby boy corrected, crossing his arms like a tiny scholar. "Pub means party place."
The girl's face lit up. She spun toward Duja, her voice echoing with childishness .
"YES, MISTER! THIS IS BIG BIGGG PARTY PLACEE!"
"That's enough," came a gentle voice.
A tall woman—taller than Duja—stepped in, holding a small boy. She set him down gently. "Go play around, Runa." She smiled before turning her gaze toward Duja. "Hello, why are you here?"
"Momma, he wants party! He came to the pub!"
"Pub?" The woman blinked, then looked at Duja.
"Oh—wait, wait, no! I thought this was a pub! I mean, it's written 'Little Angel's Inn'… I thought it was an inn!"
The lady chuckled softly. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's my bad naming sense. Even the kids make fun of me for it."
Duja stared at her—long silky hair, pink lips, and a beauty that made his heart thump. She wore simple clothes, but to Duja, she looked radiant.
He could feel his face burning red.
The lady approached him,
"You seem quite red," she said with a small smile. "Are you alright?"
"Oh no, I'm sorry, I'll have to leave," Duja stammered, bolting toward the door. He burst outside and leaned against the wall, gasping for air.
'Too beautiful…' he thought, clutching his chest as his heart pounded, still flustered, he rushed toward the manor.
—
Two hours later, Duja finally got a chance to speak with a member of the Cleso family.
The meeting room was lined with curtains and polished wood. A chandelier hung overhead.
A man in formal attire entered, He approached Duja and extended a gloved hand. "Hello, I heard you wanted to meet me?"
"Ah yes, sorry I couldn't put in the request earlier since you guys are pretty busy," Duja said, laughing awkwardly. "We're looking to stay a couple of nights—can you provide us with accommodation?"
The man hesitated, blinking in surprise before giving a smile. "Ah, I see… ahhh, well, can you give us some time to think about it?"
'Filthy nobles. They don't like people like us.' Duja's eyes dropped to the man's gloves. 'Brand new. Probably wore them just a while ago so he wouldn't have to touch my hand.'
He sighed quietly. "Okay, please do think about i—"
The door suddenly opened.
A beautiful lady walked in, her black hair flowing behind her and her pink lips catching the light as she wore a elegant dress. "Brother, I was looking for you, Mom is calli—"
She froze when she saw Duja.
And Duja froze too. Both their eyes widened at the same time. Recognition hit them instantly — she was the lady from the Little Angel's Inn.
"Y—" Before Duja could say anything, she suddenly shouted, "HOLD ON BROTHER YOU NEED TO GO FAST NOWWW!"
She grabbed her brother's arm and dragged him out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Then she turned to Duja.
"What are you doing here? This isn't a pub."
"What?" Duja blinked, startled, before realizing. "Oh, wait—you misunderstand! I was only looking for the pub that time. Right now, well…"
He cleared his throat and straightened his back. "Okay lady, let me introduce myself. I'm Duja, and I'm a part of the Dungeon Removal Program. We need shelter for a few days while we set up a camp to clean at the mountains—since the Cleso family ordered us."
The lady's expression softened. She bowed her head slightly. "Oh, sorry for misunderstanding. I'm Cynthia Fal Cleso."
"Cynthia…?" Duja blinked, remembering the children at the inn calling her Mother. His thoughts spun wildly. 'Wait—are you the mother? Are those kids nobles? Are you cheating before your marriage? Are you a single mother?'
But he asked none of them.
Cynthia smiled. "Sure, we can help for a few days. After all, we called you here."
She extended her hand for a handshake. Duja noticed her hands were bare—no gloves, no jewelry, just soft skin. He turned red, mumbling, "Uhm… please wear a glove. My hands… are dirty…"
'Since when did I care about this?' he thought. 'I hate nobles for wearing gloves.'
Yet, for the first time, he was asking for one.
But Cynthia only smiled and gently took his hand. Her touch was warm. "Okay," she said softly, "I'll go ask my father for your shelter."
She turned and left the room, her steps fading down the hallway. Duja was left alone with the sound of his racing heartbeat in the quiet room.
—
Evening came, the sky turned orange. Duja rode back to camp, where tents and horses waited at the mountain's base.
"Brobak! They allowed us! Let's go!" he called out as he dismounted.
Brobak's grin was wide and fierce. "GLORIA! CARLO! PUTRA! SMITH! ALL OF YOU GET ON YOUR HORSES! WE'RE GOING TO THE ESTATE! WE WERE ALLOWED!"
His booming voice carried across, and the group erupted with cheers as they packed up and prepared to move.
—
Later that night, after duties were done, Duja wandered through the city streets. Lanterns glowed faintly, music drifted from distant celebrations, and the smell of roasted meat filled the air. The cobblestone streets were filled with laughter and chatter.
He stopped when he saw a familiar sign.
Little Angel's Inn.
He stared for a moment, then smiled and went to buy some sweets from a nearby stall before stepping inside.
Within seconds, the children swarmed him again.
"Mister, you're back!"
"Woah, are these snacks?"
"Mine, mine, mine!"
The kids jumped around him as he laughed, setting the paper bag down. "Calm down, you rascals, take it easy!"
He sat cross-legged on the soft carpeted floor as the children eagerly took the sweets, their faces glowing. One little boy held a candy out toward him.
"No," Duja said, smiling. "I already ate a lot."
The inn looked golden with the lantern's light. Drawings hung crookedly on the walls, done in colorful chalk and ink, and a candle flickered near the window.
He turned to the braided girl. "Where is Lady Cyn— I mean, your mother?"
"Oh, Momma?" she said between bites of candy. "Momma said she will be back in a couple hours. Momma only comes for an hour or two at max each day."
"Hour?" Duja frowned. "Hey… uhh, if you don't mind me asking, is she your real mother?"
The girl nodded eagerly. "She keeps saying to call her Canthia, but we like 'Momma' more!"
'Canthia?' Duja thought, chuckling faintly. 'Her name's Cynthia… These kids must be orphans. She probably takes care of them.'
He stayed for an hour, playing with them — the little ones chasing each other with half-melted candies, laughter filling the air.
Then, the door opened.
Cynthia stepped in again, dressed like a regular citizen this time, her hair tied back. She froze at the sight of Duja surrounded by giggling children and empty sweet wrappers.
"Hello," Duja said sheepishly. "Uh, sorry for coming here—"
Cynthia's eyes widened. "KIDS! NO SWEETS BEFORE DINNER!"
She turned to Duja, half-gasping. "Duja! Why would you give them right now?"
The kids screamed with laughter and scattered, running in circles as Cynthia chased them. "Get back here! No candy before food!"
Duja laughed quietly, watching her—her laughter, her happiness, the way she ran behind the kids.
They ended up cooking dinner together. The small kitchen smelled of smoke. Cynthia stirred a pot while Duja cut vegetables with ease.
"I'm surprised you know cooking," Cynthia said, tasting the broth.
Duja chuckled. "I'm surprised you're terrible at it. Your soup, and the fact you can't cut properly."
Cynthia's face flushed. "What? No—the kids love my food!"
She turned to them for support. The children, watching the two with grins, shouted in unison,
"Nooo! Mama makes bad food!"
"Blehh!"
Cynthia clutched her chest dramatically. "Fine, I won't cook for you then!"
The children burst into laughter, the room echoing with warmth and joy.
Duja smiled, realizing he hadn't felt this in years.