Red Sonja sat in the tavern, sipping tart ale from a worn mug, when a skinny man in a hood sat down beside her. His voice trembled, but his words were clear: 'Something's happening in the dungeon under the old mill. I promise a good amount of gold if you take care of it.' Sonja smirked, glanced at the sword at her hip, and nodded. 'Gold is good. But if you're lying, I'll come back for your head,' she said, rising. The contract was sealed. A day later, she stood at the dungeon entrance. Stone steps led down into damp darkness, and the wind carried a faint smell of mold and something metallic. Sonja adjusted the straps of her metal bikini, her bare skin gleaming in the torch's dim light. The sword in her hand felt like an extension of her body. She descended, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence, until she reached a fork: two tunnels—one leading left toward a faint glimmer of light, the other right, where a quiet rustling could be heard. 'Well, where to now, fate?' she muttered, looking around with her usual wariness.