"This doesn't look like a spa," said Kelima.

"No shit," said Terry. "Wait. How do you even know what a spa is?"

"Who doesn't know what a spa is?"

"Sure, that might be true back where I come from, but here?"

You know, interrupted other-Terry, they had spas, or something very similar, as far back as ancient Greece.

Seriously? Terry asked mentally.

Why would I lie about that?

For your own entertainment?

Yeah, okay. I would absolutely do that, but I'm not doing that this time. I mean, they weren't putting cucumbers on people's eyes or offering hot rock treatments, but they did soak in hot springs and had foot baths.

"I don't know what to tell you," said Kelima, interrupting Terry's mental conversation.

"I guess it doesn't matter. I'm just happy I don't have to explain that one."

Of course, looking around just reinforced how much this new dungeon floor did not look like a spa. What it did look like was endless plains covered in grass or wheat or some other grain plant. Granted, that was a vast improvement over the damned spider-goat swamp, but Terry was pretty sure he knew what this landscape meant. At least nothing is squelching in my boots now, he thought. I guess I need to take the little wins.

"I don't see anything," said the noble girl after peering around at all the not-spa-ness.

"Don't deceive yourself. They're out there."

"How do you know?"

"It's because my bullshit sense is tingling. How do you think I know? We're still in the dungeon. Of course, they're out there."

"What will it be this time?" asked Kelima.

"Remember those minotaurs you suggested to the dungeon? This is where we'll find them."

Kelima closed her eyes, and Terry could see her lips moving a little. He wondered if she was counting backwards from ten.

"How can you be so sure?" she finally asked.

"I just am. If it's not them, then it'll be—" Terry mentally bodychecked the impulse to supply the dungeon with a suggestion like demon bunnies. "Just trust me. It'll be the minotaurs."

"So, how do we fight them?"

"We? What's this we shit you speak of? This is almost certainly the last floor, which means everything on this floor is going to be well outside your abilities. Maybe if you were here with a full team of adventurers, it would be a different story. Here? Now? You sit back and leave the fighting to me."

Kelima gave him a questioning look and asked, "A full team? What does that mean?"

"What do you mean, what does that mean? You know, a full team with all the spots filled. Damage dealer. Tank. Healer. Someone with range. Maybe a mage or an archer. And some kind of support like a priest or cleric."

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Kelima just stood there, blinking at him, and wearing an expression of pure confusion. Terry got the distinct impression that if that kind of team setup had ever been standard in Chinese Period Drama Hell, it wasn't anymore. He couldn't help but shake his head. Of all the fucking tropes to not be a thing here, thought Terry, why that one? Sure, it was cliché as hell, but it was also a super practical cliché. That kind of setup was well-rounded and covered most of the tactical problems while also giving the team flexibility to adapt.

"I've never heard of anyone putting together a team like that," said Kelima. "How would they make money splitting everything five ways?"

"Well, for one, they could reasonably survive a dungeon. Maybe not this dungeon, but certainly a dungeon. If we hadn't absorbed most of those source stones, how much do you think we could have sold them for?"

Kelima's eyes widened, and she said, "Oh! A lot!"

"There you go. Team funding solved."

"I didn't even think about that!" shouted Kelima. "Why did you let me absorb all of those?"

Terry gave her some side-eye at that comment.

"I don't know. I thought maybe you'd want to get strong enough so that any random hit wouldn't insta-kill you. Did I have that wrong?"

"No," said the noble girl, her shoulders slumping, "but we could have been beyond rich. Like buy an army and conquer a country wealth."

"I think your ambition is showing," said Terry.

"Well, not us specifically. You'd be a terrible king. But I could have made sure that my parents never had to worry again."

"Wow," said Terry. "You made it better and worse."

"Are you saying you'd be a good king?" asked Kelima, while lifting an eyebrow.

"Oh, god no. I would be the worst at that job. But it was still insulting to just say it like that."

"Insulting? You mean like all those times you called me a stray?"

"No, not friendly joking. Insulting. They're different."

"I'm pretty sure that depends on which end of the comment you're on."

"Hmmm," said Terry as he watched some movement in the middle distance. "Looks like it's time to go get me some ribeyes."

Kelima squinted in the same direction that Terry was looking and asked, "What were ribeyes again?"

"Steaks. Delicious steaks," he said. "Ones made from cows."

He wasn't sure if he needed to add that last qualifier, but it seemed like something he ought to do. He'd eaten, and also fed Kelima, enough weird crap that there was no telling how she might interpret that comment. Terry damn sure didn't want her to get him spider-goat steaks. Sharkodile? Yes. Dire wolves? In a pinch. Spider-goats? No. Never. Not unless it was completely and utterly unavoidable. The very thought was enough to make him feel a little ill.

I feel like this should be obvious, said other-Terry, but you know you can't eat the minotaurs, right?

Yes, thought Terry. I know I can't eat the minotaurs.

Because we talked about this with the ice. The same principle applies to monsters inside the dungeon. They will turn back into dungeon energy.

I just said I know I can't eat them!

I know you said it, but you say a lot of things. I can never be sure if you actually understand, or if you're just repeating things back to me like a giant mutated parrot.

That description was so absurd that it snapped Terry out of his vague but growing annoyance.

You just thought of the phrase 'giant mutated parrot' and wanted to use it, didn't you? Terry asked.

There was a beat before other-Terry said, That is not a completely impossible notion, but you're getting sidetracked. No minotaur steaks!

"Oh, for fuck's sake," said Terry out loud.

"What's wrong?" asked an alarmed Kelima.

"My imaginary friend is getting lippy with me."

"What?" demanded Kelima, looking even more alarmed.

"Nothing. Just stay here. I'm going to go kill some cow-people."

"Are you sure you want to fight them alone?"

"Oh yeah. I'm sure. That last floor was just all kinds of wrong. I feel the need to punish something for that. The minotaurs will do."

Kelima looked like she was about to object, but seemed to change her mind. Instead, she gave him a thumbs-up. Terry tried to remember if that was something she'd picked up from him. Probably, he thought. Drawing a sword in each hand, he focused on the approaching monsters. Now that they were close enough to get a good look, it turned out that they were bigger than he'd expected. All of them stood at least seven feet tall. They also looked angry. That suited Terry just fine. It was a lot easier to fight with things that were immediately hostile. He took a moment to loosen his shoulders. Then, he took off toward the minotaurs while shouting the battle cry he'd decided to adopt for this floor.

"Steak!"

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