Chapter 15: Whoops

"Well... they had that coming," Brent said after a long pause, his voice tinged with both awe and a hint of disbelief as he tried to process what had just happened. The adventurers had been obliterated, and not in a slow, drawn-out way—it had been swift, brutal, and honestly a little shocking. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of the carnage or feel sorry for their deaths.

Emil crossed his small metal arms and let out a thoughtful hum. "Gotta admit, I didn’t expect it to be that effective. Usually, when a dungeon first opens, it’s a breeze for the first adventurers, especially higher-ranked ones like that group. They tend to get through the first run easily, even if it’s not their class level. But that? That was... something else."

"They insulted my design," Brent muttered, still slightly miffed by their comments about the dungeon being a “baby dungeon.” "They acted like stuck-up pricks, so I’m not sorry they got wiped out. Besides..." He paused, feeling a surge of energy ripple through his core, "...I hit level ten from absorbing their corpses. So, win-win!"

"That’s great news! Hitting level ten opens up more possibilities. Now, we can add two more minions to your roster. I’d suggest trying out some you haven’t used before, just to test their capabilities," Emil said, sounding quite pleased with Brent’s progression. But then his tone shifted to one of caution. "However... we do need to make it a bit easier. That was a complete massacre. And while it's fun to watch adventurers drop like flies, we don't want to scare off every group that comes through here."

Brent frowned, reluctant to adjust the difficulty. "Ugh... fine. But I’m not making it too easy. They didn’t even get to meet Ignarok. I think it’d hurt his feelings if I told him to hold back. He was so happy when Ferron crashed out during the test run. And let’s be real—if Ignarok gets involved, people are going to have a bad time."

Already pulling up his map, Brent began to tweak the layout. Ferron, who had been diligently resetting the carts back to the starting line, looked slightly crestfallen as he hadn’t been part of the action during the adventurers’ brief and bloody encounter with the traps. Ignarok, on the other hand, seemed utterly delighted by the mayhem, especially when he’d roared with laughter after the first adventurer’s head was cleanly severed by the spinning blades. Kagejin remained his usual silent, brooding self, lurking in the shadows of his room, content with waiting to pounce on the next unsuspecting soul.

Cleaning up the mess left behind by the adventurers had been oddly satisfying for Brent. The system allowed him to absorb the bodies and the remnants of the adventurers, boosting his XP with a single command. As the traps reset and the dungeon returned to its normal state, Brent turned to Emil.

"So, do we just open back up?" Brent asked. "I assume the people waiting outside were expecting that run to take longer."

Emil checked his internal clock and gave a slow nod. "Indeed. Typically, after a dungeon run, you’re given six hours to reset everything. That’s when you would respawn your minions, repair damage, and reset traps. But since they barely made it into the second room, we’re way ahead of schedule."

Brent rubbed his chin, thinking. "Well, if we’ve got time, I want to talk to Ferron first. I value his input, and I’m sure he’s got some thoughts on how the dungeon could run smoother."

"Good idea. I’m sure he’d appreciate the chance to weigh in," Emil agreed, his small mechanical eyes glowing approvingly.

Ferron was summoned to the Core Room, his hulking iron frame emitting soft clanking sounds with every heavy step. His presence filled the room, and the soft glow of his azure runes flickered with anticipation.

"Ferron," Brent began, pulling up the dungeon map, "we’re pulling back a little. We don’t want to be labeled a ‘murder dungeon’ on the first day. I’ve already removed some traps, but I want your thoughts. What else can we do to make it, uh, less ‘challenging’?" Brent struggled with the word, clearly disliking the idea of watering down his dungeon.

Ferron leaned in, his glowing eyes scanning the map that Brent shared with him. He nodded thoughtfully. "You’ve removed one of the pendulum axes, a spinning blade, and the pitfall. That’s a good start. But I’d recommend pulling the flame jets as well. They’re a bit too intense for anyone without iron for a body. We can replace them with the Trapvine Creepers—they’ll slow adventurers down without outright killing them. That should give us a balance of challenge without total annihilation."

Brent chuckled, impressed. "You’re right. Those flame jets are probably overkill. We’ll swap them out for the vines."

They spent the next hour working together, Ferron directing the relocation of traps while Brent used his interface to adjust the dungeon’s layout. Brent summoned the unnamed Iron Golem, a stout figure with a slightly more rounded build than Ferron, giving it its own set of instructions to hit the track switches and interfere with adventurers' progress.

However, as Brent watched the unnamed golem take its orders, he felt that familiar tug—the need to name it.

"Hmm... you need a name," Brent mused aloud, examining the golem more closely. This one had a portly frame, like a rounded cauldron, and moved with a deliberate, heavy gait. "Caldron. You’re sturdy and a little round... like a pot."

The moment he uttered the name, the Iron Golem lifted off the ground slightly, bathed in a soft, blue light. Brent felt the familiar drain of energy as the magic of the dungeon imbued the golem with a spark of individuality. When the light finally dissipated, the golem’s eyes and mouth now glowed a gentle sky blue, and a series of intricate runes danced across its chest.

"Master," Caldron said, his voice rumbling deeply as he bowed.

Brent opened his mouth to respond, but Ferron beat him to it. "He prefers to be called Brent," Ferron corrected, speaking as though it were second nature now.

Caldron blinked, seemingly confused for a moment, before nodding. "Brent. Thank you for the name. I am honored."

Brent grinned. "Glad you like it, Caldron. Now, are the instructions clear to you?"

"Yes, I understand. I will carry out your orders faithfully," Caldron said, his large iron fist thumping against his chest with a resounding clang.

Brent watched him with pride. "Great! Now, with those adjustments, I think we’re about ready to reopen."

As Caldron moved back to his assigned room, Brent took one last look at the map. The traps were set, the minions were eager, and the layout had been tweaked to offer a fair challenge without being overwhelming. He glanced at Emil, whose small mechanical face seemed much more relaxed.

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"Ready when you are," Emil said. "And this time, let’s see if they can at least make it to the fourth room before we have to clean up the mess."

Brent chuckled. "Fingers crossed."

The dungeon was now poised for its next round of adventurers. The traps were deadly but manageable, and the minions were ready to test their mettle. Brent felt a sense of accomplishment as he reviewed the final adjustments. His dungeon, while still in its infancy, was quickly becoming something he could take immense pride in. And though the first group had been wiped out in spectacular fashion, he couldn’t help but feel excited about what came next.

As he activated the entrance once again, Brent couldn’t wait to see what new adventurers would face his creation—and whether they’d survive to tell the tale.

The gathered crowd outside the dungeon hummed with lively anticipation, turning the occasion into a festive gathering. It had become somewhat of a tradition in Marshalldale to throw impromptu parties whenever a new dungeon appeared, with a palpable excitement in the air as everyone waited for the first adventuring party to return. Street performers had set up along the makeshift plaza, juggling flaming torches or playing instruments to entertain the eager onlookers. Children chased each other around, swinging imaginary swords at invisible monsters, while the smell of sizzling meats and baked goods wafted from the rows of food vendors that had parked their wagons nearby. Even one of the local taverns had rolled out barrels of ale and wine to sell to the crowd, which, for the adults, helped dull the ever-building sense of nervousness as they awaited news.

Most were expecting this first dungeon run to take several hours. After all, the group that had entered—Mike and his crew—were seasoned adventurers, a B-Class team, known for their efficiency and strength. Surely, they'd be methodically clearing out traps, monsters, and whatever hidden nastiness the new dungeon had in store. So when, after just a little over an hour, the dungeon door rumbled open with an ominous finality, the noise and laughter of the crowd were abruptly silenced. A heavy, almost tangible weight of confusion and unease settled over the gathering as all eyes snapped to the entrance.

The crowd held their collective breath, expecting any moment to see Mike’s team emerge, triumphant and perhaps a bit worse for wear, but with treasure in hand and smiles on their faces. But no one came out. The minutes stretched on, and the growing silence became suffocating. Whispered questions rippled through the gathering, concern etching itself on the faces of those present.

"What could've happened in there?" someone muttered.

"Where are they?" asked another, fear creeping into their voice.

This was highly unusual. It wasn't entirely unheard of for a dungeon’s first adventuring party to fail, especially in a newly spawned dungeon that no one had experience with. But for a B-Class team like Mike’s to have been wiped out so quickly—without even a single survivor escaping—was chilling. The crowd began to murmur, trading fearful glances. How dangerous could this dungeon possibly be if it had already claimed such a strong group? And in such a short time?

The representative from the Adventurer's Guild, a stocky man with a clipboard in hand and a stern but concerned look on his face, stepped forward cautiously. He approached the yawning mouth of the dungeon, his leather armor creaking as he moved, and peered inside. The darkness beyond the entrance seemed to swallow his gaze. The eerie quiet of the cave offered no answers.

After a long pause, he turned back to the crowd, his face paler than before, shaking his head slowly as if to clear the confusion from his mind. The clipboard trembled in his hands. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat as he looked over the gathered names of the next party on the list.

"Uh..." He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice, which wavered with shock. "Are the Shadow Wolves here yet?"

"Present," a gruff voice called out from within the crowd.

Heads turned as a group of six adventurers stepped forward. The Shadow Wolves, a known B-Class team, moved with the confidence of seasoned veterans, though there was a distinct tenseness to their movements. They had all heard the murmurs and seen the unease on people’s faces, and now the dread was creeping into their own bones.

Paul, the leader of the Shadow Wolves, locked eyes with the guild representative. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a scar running down his cheek that told of many hard-fought battles. Despite his attempt at maintaining a calm facade, there was a flicker of nervousness in his dark eyes. He knew Mike and his team well. For them to be wiped out this fast was alarming, to say the least.

"I suppose... you're up next," the guild representative said, his voice hesitant. "I, uh... I apologize. I didn’t expect it to be so quick." He cast another glance at the dungeon entrance, as if waiting for something—anything—to emerge.

Paul set his jaw, pushing back the anxious flutter building in his chest. "No matter. We’ll go now." He tried to exude confidence, but even he couldn’t shake the gnawing worry gnawing at his gut. Mike and his team were cocky, sure, but they weren’t amateurs. Still, Paul resolved not to make the same mistake of underestimating this dungeon.

The rest of the Shadow Wolves fell into step behind him, their expressions grim. They had all known Mike’s group for a long time. They shared drinks together, swapped stories of treasure hunts and battles fought. For them to vanish so quickly left an unsettling void in their hearts, but also a determination not to follow the same fate. They were adventurers, after all. Death was part of the job.

As they approached the entrance, the crowd parted like a sea, their whispered conversations now tinged with fear rather than excitement. No one cheered or clapped this time. The festive atmosphere had evaporated completely, leaving behind a tense stillness. The townsfolk watched with wide eyes as the Shadow Wolves disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by the very same dungeon that had claimed the last group.

The moment they stepped into the cool, damp air of the cave, Paul raised a hand, signaling his team to stay sharp. The walls were smooth, too smooth, as if they'd been deliberately carved. The Shadow Wolves exchanged uneasy glances, already feeling the oppressive weight of the unknown pressing down on them.

Behind them, the door slowly lowered, sealing them inside. The heavy thud echoed through the cavern like the sound of a gavel coming down in a courtroom, final and irrevocable.

Paul tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and led the way deeper into the dungeon. He wasn’t going to let his team fall into the same traps, both literal and metaphorical, as Mike’s had. Whatever was waiting for them inside, they would face it head-on—and they would survive.

At least, that was the plan.

"Oh, good! We didn’t scare them off completely. Looks like we’ll get another shot," Emil said, his voice crackling through the Core Room, projecting his message to the minds of the minions throughout the dungeon. "Now, everyone, remember this time we’re aiming for balance. We don’t need to kill them all. If some don’t make it—no biggie—but we need at least one group to make it through for word to get out."

Brent nodded, tapping into the connection with his minions. "Right. Do your best, but don’t go overboard. Try to have some fun with them—think of it as a warm-up. But if they start to struggle, maybe... give them a little nudge. We need someone to make it to the end so they can spread the word. If no one survives, we can’t adjust the dungeon, and we need feedback if we’re going to make it more challenging."

His words echoed through the minds of his minions, ensuring that they understood the plan. Brent, despite his enthusiasm for building a tough and exciting dungeon, knew that balance was key. If they wiped out every adventurer who came through, word would get out that it was a deathtrap, and no one would dare enter again. That would mean no adventurers, no XP, and no growth.

Ferron, standing near the entrance, nodded in understanding, while Ignarok and Kagejin each readied themselves for the upcoming challenge. Their expressions, or what passed for them on their metal and stone faces, were focused, determined to strike the right balance between defending the dungeon and leaving survivors to carry tales of their prowess.

Brent felt a rush of excitement. This time, they were prepared to give the adventurers a chance—just enough to let them see what they were truly up against.