For the first ten minutes, there was only an awkward silence. Although they had formed a team, it was a team of convenience.
None of them knew each other, and they had come together because they were all rejects in their own way.
Many of them even had bias towards each other. After all, one was a swordsman that was still recovering from the effects of poison and couldn't even swing his sword properly.
The other person was the healer that had literally poisoned the swordsman, albeit accidentally.
The third person was a chef who looked out of place in this place. How was a chef going to fight if they came across a monster? Throw a spatula at the monster?
The fourth person in the group could be called the most annoying in a certain sense. He kept giving probabilities of everything, even things that were most obvious.
Then again, he was probably the only person here who could talk without a sense of surroundings.
Most of the time, the only sounds echoing down the narrow passage were the sound of boots, and the clinking of Arthur abacus, and the occasional wet cough from the poisoned swordsman.
Realizing that they were probably going to die together, Ian decided it was best to at least know the names of his fellow victims.
If they knew each other, they might actually have a chance of survival and decent coordination.
"I'm Ian," he said, speaking up to break the ice. He adjusted the makeshift sling holding his shattered right arm. "F-Rank Gambler. Though just to make it clear, my class has nothing to do with hobbies or actual gambling."
Of course, he didn't say the last word of the sentence. He stopped himself just short of adding, "...probably."
The others blinked, surprised by the sudden introduction, but the ice was effectively broken.
"Marcus," the swordsman was the second to introduce himself, wiping a bit of green foam from his chin. "D-Rank Swordsman. Formerly a regional sales manager at Windowmart."
"I'm Arthur," the older man sighed, adjusting his glasses. "E-Rank Accountant. I worked as a certified public accountant in the past. And now... Well, I have no idea what TF I'm doing now."
"Bob," the overweight man said, hugging his cast-iron pan. "D-Rank Chef. I'm certain you can guess my profession on earth."
"And I'm Toby!" the young man with the wooden staff chimed in eagerly. "E-Rank Healer! A professional activist from earth, fighting greedy global corporations."
Marcus immediately flinched, instinctively raising his sword.
Toby noticed the reaction and lowered his head, feeling a deep pain of rejection. He genuinely wanted to help people.
That's why he was so happy when he awakened a healer class. But now he was being treated like a villain, all because he accidentally swapped the 'Minor Heal' and 'Minor Toxin' icons in his panic?
Determined to regain some dignity, Toby puffed out his chest and turned to Marcus. "Hey, Marcus. Your skin is still glowing a little green. The poison might still be in your system. Should I try healing you again?"
Marcus went deathly pale, well, as pale as a recently poisoned man could get. He scrambled backward so fast he nearly tripped over his own boots.
"Stay away from me, you crazy bastard!" Marcus exclaimed, pointing his sword at the terrified healer. "If you point that stick at me again, I will chop it in half!"
Toby shrank back, his shoulders slumping. He looked around desperately for a way to prove his worth. His eyes landed on Ian.
More specifically, he looked at Ian's shattered right arm, tightly bound to his chest.
Toby snuck closer, flashing what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Ian, having a broken arm must be incredibly uncomfortable. And dangerous in a place like this! Let me try to heal that for you. I promise you will not be poisoned."
Although the chances of his minor healing working on such an injury was close to none, it didn't stop him.
Ian frowned. He looked at Toby's eager face. Then, he looked past Toby's shoulder at Marcus, who was currently shivering and glowing faintly in the dark like a radioactive glow-stick.
Ian gulped heavily.
He immediately took a small step back, shielding his broken arm with his good hand.
"I'm good," Ian said quickly. "Honestly, I like it broken. When I was little, I always wanted to have my arm broken. You don't have to worry about it."
Even if he was going to have Toby try to heal his arm, he wanted to do that after this young man had leveled up a little. Moreover, he didn't want to be the first test subject after Marcus.
If he was poisoned here, he wouldn't even know how he died. Who knew if his other arm was going to die with the healing instead.
Before Toby could insist, Ian pointed in the distance.
"What's that?"
The group came to a halt. Dead ahead, the path split cleanly into two identical paths. One led left, the other led right. Both were completely swallowed by darkness.
Without entering them, they didn't even see anything inside.
"Great," Bob the Chef sighed. "Now it truly feels like a maze. So, which way do we go?"
Arthur pushed his glasses up his nose.
"Let me help you." He proudly stepped forward.
His fingers flew across his abacus with blinding speed, the beads clacking loudly.
"According to my calculations," Arthur announced gravely, "there is exactly a fifty percent chance that the left path is the right one."
Everyone turned to stare at Arthur with weird expressions.
"Arthur," Marcus said slowly. "There are only two paths."
"Yes," Arthur nodded proudly. "And...?'
"So obviously it's a fifty percent chance!" Bob threw his hands up in the air, almost hitting himself in the head with his frying pan. "You didn't need to do math for that! A toddler knows that!"
"Numbers do not lie, Bob!" Arthur defended himself defensively, clutching his abacus. "I am simply providing a confirmation!"
"Your certainty is useless!" Marcus snapped. "We need a decision! I say we go right. As a regional sales manager, I led a team of forty people! I know how to navigate corporate restructuring; I can navigate a maze!"
"Oh, please!" Bob scoffed, stepping up to Marcus. "You sat in an air-conditioned office! I ran the kitchen of a three-star diner during the Sunday morning rush! I have the best instincts here. We go left!"
"Instincts are just a myth!" Arthur argued, jumping into the fray. "I audited Fortune 500 companies! My analytical skills are unmatched!"
Ian stood a few feet away, leaning against the cold stone wall. He watched in complete silence as the three grown men threw childish tantrums, flexing their achievements in the middle of an otherworldly labyrinth.
It was like watching a bizarre corporate team-building exercise go horribly wrong.