“I see,” Franklin finally says. The warm glow of the campfire flickers in his eyes, which at present are deeply pensive, as he attempts to soak in and integrate all the information he has just been given. With some prodding, the adventurer, Wendell, has provided him with a rough account of The Outside, the last of the three layers he has yet to personally explore and, based on what was said, the one that most resembles Earth’s crust, where society is housed. “So, it sounds like medieval Europe almost…”

“Medieval Europe?”

The teenager’s question causes Franklin to look up from his thoughts, and he spends a second observing the boy who, despite claims of being eighteen, appears much younger to him. Perhaps it’s his rather feminine facial structure, he thinks. Then putting the matter aside, he says, “Ah, nevermind that. Thank you for telling me about The Outside. It’s been very enlightening.”

“Sure…” the teen replies slowly, a dubious look on his face, “But to know nothing of it, have you lived in this dungeon your entire life or something?”

“Something like that,” Franklin replies, for it is technically true, insofar as if the question is limited to the scope of this particular life, this reincarnation, that is. And as to the context of the teen’s question, his usage of the term lived in, well, that has to do more with, what Franklin has discovered, a fundamental ignorance on the boy’s part. As he has learned by chance, the boy is apparently unaware of the existence of dungeon cores. Now, having only a sample size of one, it’s not clear to Franklin at this point if this is a widespread misunderstanding on the part of all adventurers. But for Wendell, at least, it would appear that it has led the teen to misconstrue his present situation as that of some kind of hobo, living out of a dungeon.

Well, it’s not exactly far from the truth, I suppose, Franklin muses to himself.

The sound of the adventurer’s voice once more brings Franklin back to the present, pointing out, “But I have to say, this is the strangest dungeon I’ve ever been in. In fact, it doesn’t feel like a dungeon at all. I mean, here we are, sitting around a campfire, having casual chat. Where are the mobs? I don’t sense any danger at all…”

“I haven’t summoned them yet.”

“... What does that mean?”

Franklin does not answer the question, however, instead posing one of his own. “Wendell, you said that this dungeon is strange, right? So then there must be ones against which you are comparing it. I believe you mentioned in passing that you had just recently been in a ‘normal’ dungeon? Can you describe it to me?”

The adventurer appears to hesitate a moment, before finally nodding his head. Then he begins the recount of his run through a place called, Bladgor Dungeon, introducing his party of three other men by the names of Garrett, Roger and Hector. He goes on to describe their entry into the first floor, their fight with the Pack of Goblins, followed by a fight with a lone Hippogriff. Franklin listens on intently, absorbing the information, mostly in silent concentration. But when the boy gets to the part about Hector offering up a potion, however, he feels the need to interject.

He asks, “Hold on, you have a Stats command as well?” The teen nods, prompting him to continue, “So you should have something detailing levels and experience, correct?” This time, the boy offers a sarcastic glance back, like he’s an idiot for asking such an obvious question. Franklin shrugs it off, taking the answer as an affirmative, and proceeds, “Then, you must have a way to gain experience and levels, right?”

“Of course. You do it by killing mobs,” Wendell replies, “Say, why are you asking all these really obvious questions? As an adventurer yourself, shouldn’t you already know all this? Is this some kind of game I’m not understanding?”

Franklin doesn’t reply though, suddenly deep in thought. Strange. So, adventurers can gain experience by killing mobs, but when I killed all those slimes in Paradosa Swamp, I didn’t gain any experience at all. Is this a bug in the system? Or rather, it’s not a “bug” but a “feature”? I should press him for more details…

“By chance, did you happen to see how much experience you had, after finishing the encounters with both the goblins and hippogriff?” I’m curious whether different mobs will yield different quantities of experience and what those quantities might be.

He sees Wendell think for a long moment, as if trying to recall, before replying, “I believe it read 70 out of 500.”

“And what was the value of it when you first entered the dungeon?”

“70 out of 500,” the boy replies, immediately this time.

Franklin feels his eyes open in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I remember quite explicitly checking beforehand, since I was concerned with...”

Franklin notes the boy’s somber tone as his words trail off. He doesn’t press the issue though, more interested in the apparent discrepancy underpinning the mechanism of experience. He says, “There’s a contradiction in what you’ve just told me, Wendell. On the one hand, you say that killing mobs grants experience, and that is how an adventurer levels up. But on the other, you claim that your experience has remained the same after defeating both the goblins and hippogriff. Why is that?”

Franklin sees the teen’s brows furrow, as if hit by the paradox for the first time, and he can see the gears turning in the adventurer’s head before finally, in an insistent tone, he replies, “All I know is that you gain experience after dungeon runs. That’s how you level up.”

Franklin keys in on the adventurer’s choice of words, wondering if it is intentional or subconscious. “After dungeon runs”... Interesting… I’ll have to do some tests then… He returns to the teen, saying, “A different point, Wendell, if I may. You had also mentioned you were injured by the hippogriff, a scratch along your arm, I believe. And yet, your arm appears fine right now, does it not?”

He sees the adventurer hold up his left arm to the firelight, putting it on display. “Well, yes, but again, everyone knows that injuries sustained in a dungeon aren’t permanent...”

“Everyone knows”? Curious… Franklin does not let the matter go, pressing the issue further. “But why is that the case? Why are injuries not permanent? Looking at your armor, I can see that equipment damage appears very much so.” He points to the torn leather bracer, as well as the tear in the back of the chest piece, to emphasize his point, and once again, he can see that Wendell does not appear to have a good response, likely never having deeply thought about the matter before. In fact, Franklin is beginning to see a recurring theme emerge, the notion that not much thought has been put into the matter of dungeons at all, at least, not with a critical eye, for while Wendell appears rather well versed in the what, he seems to have very little insight into the why. Franklin again considers that this might be an issue of small sample size, but it is definitely something to make a mental note of for future consideration.

Saving Wendell from having to respond, Franklin urges the adventurer to continue with his story. This then leads to an account of the final fight with the boss of the dungeon, a creature known as King Scorpion. What interests Franklin most about this part is not the monster itself, however, but the notion that the biome in which the fight takes place is an open-area arena of sorts. He makes a mental note of this, for when he is able to test out the Incorporate Land command. Then, he turns back to the teen who, having finished the story, is waiting patiently for his reaction. Franklin offers up a melodramatic tone, saying, “And so, you died tragically, in an attempt to save your party from certain demise. Heroic! Bravo!”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“That’s not exactly how I’d characterize it…”

“But you made it sound like your actions were critical to the success of the dungeon run.”

“I… I guess.”

“Well, what I’d like to know is, did it hurt? When you died? Can you describe it to me?” I’m interested in finding out if there is some analgesia involved with adventurers as well, some pain numbing effect perhaps…

While his inquiry had been purely scientific in nature, it only occurs to Franklin after the words leave his mouth how sadistic they must sound, for he sees Wendell squirm uncomfortably. “Ah, what I mean is,” Franklin quickly adds, “Did dying hurt your Stats? Your health and experience and such.”

“Oh, I see,” the teen replies, suddenly looking relieved.

Nice save!

“Well, my health is at 6 out of 13, right now, so it’ll take a bit of time to recover,” the adventurer admits, “and I did lose all my experience… So in that sense, yes, it definitely hurts. Actually, that’s why I was drawn to this dungeon-”

“But you didn’t lose any levels?”

“No, I’m still level two.”

Hm, so that’s the same as what happened to me, when I “died”. I didn’t lose any levels either. “I see. Well, I think I have enough information to cover the basics now,” Franklin says, his eyes growing in excitement, “Shall we go and test a few hypotheses?”

****

“You… want me to kill it?” he hears Wendell ask.

“That’s right.”

“But… isn’t it your companion?”

“Alas, the sacrifices we make for science,” Franklin bemoans. He notes the dubious expression on the adventurer’s face as the boy reaches for the hilt of his sword. Before he can unsheath it, however, Franklin suddenly interrupts, saying, “Oh wait, I have something for you to use instead. It’ll be a more controlled experiment this way. One sec.” He heads deeper into the dungeon, to his core room, returning with a clay potato in hand, which he passes over to Wendell. “Here.”

The teen looks at the item for a moment, then scowls. “Didn’t you say it was a one-of-a-kind family heirloom, or something??”

“I’m pretty sure I said two-of-a-kind, a pair, I swear. That’s what makes them special,” Franklin lies, for in truth, he has manufactured half a dozen or so, just in case. He prods the adventurer forward, towards the Swamp Slime. “Now, don’t mind the details. Go on, just stick the jar into ol’ Cy here, and the acid will do the rest.” And while his insistence on Cy’s demise might seem callous and cruel, it is for the greater good of furthering his dungeon. The ends justify the means, and if it also happens to give him an excuse to summon another slime, one that perhaps is not defective, well, that is just how coincidences work, now isn’t it?

He sees Wendell move forward cautiously before, with one swift motion, he plunges the jar into the slime, reeling his hand back immediately after. For Cy’s part, the slime jiggles a bit, obliviously. Then a few seconds later, and it implodes, as all Swamp Slimes have done, dissolving into a puddle of liquid. “That… that’s insane,” Wendell utters, “What is in the jar? Some kind of high-tier magical spell?”

“Vinegar.”

“Vin...vinegar? How…? Why...?”

Franklin smiles, noting the adventurer’s budding curiosity, contrasting it with his earlier dogma about the dungeons. Perhaps I can make a scientist out of you yet, Wendell, he thinks silently to himself, before outwardly saying, “Dissolution of crosslinks that disrupts the non-Newtonian properties of the fluid.” A blank stare from Wendell is his reply, and Franklin lets out a cough, continuing, “Ah, but that’s not important right now. More to the point, what does your experience read?”

“Still zero.”

“Interesting. Wendell, I’d like you to try something. Can you exit the dungeon and come back in?”

“I can,” Wendell replies, raising an eyebrow, “But why?”

“Just humor me.”

Franklin watches as Wendell starts to exit the cavern chamber, making for the western portal. He is about to follow when a glint on the floor catches his eye. He bends over, picking up what appears to be a small, spherical gem lying in the puddle that used to be his Swamp Slime. The crystal is green, like an emerald, about an inch in diameter, or about the size of a marble. Franklin tucks this into his pocket, making a mental note to look into it later. Then he catches up to the adventurer, just in time to watch as the latter dissolves away into the purple amorphous substance, and he thinks to himself, Hm, that’s another thing I’ll have to investigate. Just what is this purple thing, and how does it work? As he finishes the thought, and less than a minute later, he spots the adventurer remerging, and he calls to him, asking, “So, what is your experience reading now?”

“100 out of 500,” Wendell replies, sounding surprised, “But why?”

“Indeed,” Franklin says vaguely. The experiment has made clear something to him, however, and that is that while adventurers can indeed gain experience from mobs in dungeons, it appears that the experience does not actually register until after the adventurer leaves the dungeon. This, of course, raises further questions, such as where the experience exists in the meanwhile, but for now, he’s satisfied with the conclusion. He moves on to the next experiment. Ignoring Wendell’s prior question, he asks, “Can I see your sword for a moment?”

Perhaps it is because they have been conversing for such a long time, perhaps it is the lack of danger the dungeon has presented thus far, but the adventurer willingly unsheathes his blade, handing the weapon over. Franklin takes it, then inspects it closely, before pricking his palm with the tip. A message appears in response.

You have taken 1 piercing damage.

But there is no blood. Interesting.

He turns to Wendell, sword still in hand, asking, “Just to confirm something. In your battle with the King Scorpion, after you died, what happened? You respawned, right?”

“Yes, I woke up in my inn room in Bristle.”

“Bristle? Is that a place?”

“Yes, it’s a city about five days' travel from here.”

“I see. Well then, I’ll talk to you again in five days, I suppose.”

“What’s that-?”

Before Wendell can finish his question, Franklin steps forward, thrusting the blade in his hand straight through the adventurer’s exposed throat. The latter, having been caught completely off guard, does little to defend, instead crumbling to the ground, blood gurgling from his mouth. Franklin watches on, morbidly curious to see what happens next.

He kneels down, placing a finger on the adventurer’s neck, checking for the pulse. A few second pass, and then so does the adventurer, as one last exhale escapes the latter’s lips. Abruptly, a message appears, interrupting his vision.

You have gained 100 experience.

You have leveled up. You are now level Two.

You have gained 1000 max AP.

You have gained Two additional summon slots.

You have gained the ability to summon L2 creatures.

You have gained the ability to evolve creatures to L2.

You have gained One spell point.

You have gained One additional floor slot.

You have gained access to the command Shape.

Pulling up his Stats, he finds that indeed, he has leveled up, the new information reading:

Level

2

Current Exp

0 / 500

AP

2000 / 2000

Interesting. So defeating adventurers “is” the way to level up, and leveling up restores your AP. That’s good to know. Also, the Shape command is finally unlocked! Let’s take it for a spin. Maybe I can “finally” get dungeon construction going.

“[Shape].”

After executing the command, Franklin is greeted by a top-down map of his dungeon, and playing around with it a bit, he finds that he can choose parts of various walls, a little pickaxe icon showing up indicating that the area is selected for removal. He tries this with a very small section, after which a prompt appears, asking him to confirm:

10 ft3 selected for Removal. This action will consume 30 AP. Proceed?

“30 AP?! For just ten cubic feet?! That seems… ridiculously inefficient. Like, that’d only be… 667 cubic feet per day, with my current AP pool, assuming I did nothing else. So that’s, what, a nine by nine by nine box?! What is this… a dungeon for ants?!” He takes a pause before continuing, “Well, on the plus side, I never had my hopes in the Shape command to begin with, so, I guess I’m not too disappointed. All this really means is I’ll just have to keep advancing on towards the pickaxe as planned-”

Suddenly, something happening on the ground catches his attention. He looks down just in time to spot Wendell’s body starting to dissolve, blossoming into tiny particles of light and fading as they rise. This process takes less than a minute, leaving behind no trace of the adventurer that once was lying there, flesh or equipment.

Franklin stares at the ground for a long moment, sword still in hand, perhaps contemplating the morality of it all, perhaps wondering if becoming a dungeon core has changed him somehow, or perhaps he has always been this way. Then, he offers a shrug, turning away. “Five days. Right, back to iron working it is then.”