The whole party seems to tremble with anticipation as the knight approaches. It looks more like a cadaver than a person, gaunt and sluggish, covered all over with bulbous fungal protrusions. A rusty, putted sword is clutched between its teeth, dripping with gooey white slime. Strands of the same slime connect it to the tunnel walls, shifting disconnecting and reattaching as it trots inexorably closer... And then stops. As if waiting.

The party leader, the stiff and stern one whose name Luca doesn't recall, steps forward. Blade brandished. For a moment, they're both perfectly still. The swordsman steps to the side— The fungal knight mirrors it. The swordsman lunges— The fungal knight parries it, in perfect sync.

Step for step, the fight becomes a dance, blades clanging and clashing against each other, sparking in the gloom. A rumble sounds in the distance, some new shift or opening hall, and Luca finds himself sweating in the cool, humid dark. Left. Right. Parry. Clash.

Suddenly, the party leader bursts forward in a frenzy of motion, twisting around the fungal knight and deftly disarming it. The rusted sword clatters across the tiles, and for a moment, everything is still again.

Then the knight kneels. A slow, deliberate yield. The party leader, the swordsman, raises his blade, and in one swift move, beheads it.

He turns to Luca. "Come get your shit," the stallion tells him.