Riven wasn’t as anxious today. With two floors between him and the entrance, he felt confident that he’d finally put enough distance and danger between himself and the humans. It would be absurd for any intruder to reach him now.

“It would be impossible for a rat to find cheese by beelining to it in a two-floored maze… right?” he mused, a smug smile creeping onto his face. And that wasn’t even accounting for the fact that the “rat” would have to fight for its life on the way.

Still, he knew better than to grow complacent. “Sorvax used to keep an eye on his tablet even when he had five floors,” he murmured to himself. No self-respecting Dungeon Master would ever completely ignore the map, especially with mana on the line.

But Sorvax hadn’t had Darnel the Kobold to guard his floor! Riven grinned, glancing at the shadowy figure of his bodyguard lurking in the hallway. Darnel might be hideous—No, protective, Riven corrected himself with a smirk—but he was a steadfast deterrent, ready to “escort” any uninvited guests who made it past the second floor.

Reassured, Riven realized he could afford to spend his time on something more productive than hovering over the map. Today’s harvest would be his first real test of the new layout and monster placements, and there wasn’t much he could do except wait and see how the humans handled it. So, he decided to do what any responsible Dungeon Master would: he’d plan for the future.

He opened the Dungeon Management Menu and scrolled through the options, his gaze stopping at the next floor’s cost. 3,500 MP. The number sat heavily on the screen, daring him to try to reach it.

“Steep…” he muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

3,500 MP might not have felt like much when he’d been under Sorvax’s tutelage, but now, managing his own dungeon, every mana point had started to feel precious. He’d always known that expanding a dungeon was costly—that each new floor demanded a significant jump in mana—but he hadn’t expected the price to rise so quickly. He was only on his second floor, and already the costs were starting to feel… daunting.

But that wouldn’t stop him. In fact, it wouldn’t stop any self-respecting demon. Growing a dungeon wasn’t supposed to be easy; it was the duty of every Dungeon Master to expand, fortify, and evolve. Sorvax had drilled that into him. A demon’s worth was measured by the strength and size of their dungeon, and a great dungeon took time, patience, and relentless ambition.

The thought reassured him a bit. This is just how it’s supposed to be, he told himself. It had taken Sorvax years to build his domain into what it was. Riven’s own journey was only just beginning.

Besides, as a dungeon grew, it naturally generated more mana. The stronger and more numerous the adventurers who reached the higher floors, the more mana they contributed to the dungeon. It didn’t scale perfectly—the relationship between floors and mana gains wasn’t a clean 1:1—but with each additional floor, the total mana harvested would still increase, provided the dungeon was well-managed. If he could maintain the balance, he’d see positive returns on his investment.

That said… he glanced back down at the statistics screen, his confidence wavering a little as he considered the upkeep costs.

Dungeon Management Menu

[Dungeon: Riven’s Dungeon]

[Floors: 2]

[Daily Upkeep: 357 MP]

[Available Mana: 592 MP]

[Time Before Collapse: 1 Day 10 Hours]

[Refill Loot Cost: 33 MP]

“357 MP in daily upkeep…” he muttered, feeling a pang of annoyance. And that was before accounting for the mana required to refill the loot that adventurers would inevitably snatch up.

He cast a glance at Darnel, who was lurking in the shadows, his beady yellow eyes watching his master with silent intensity. Riven suppressed a grim smile as a thought crossed his mind. He might have to send Darnel out to… reclaim some of that loot if the day’s mana haul turned out to be underwhelming. After all, any treasures left in the humans’ hands were essentially wasted resources, sitting outside the dungeon, no longer contributing to its growth.

“Alright, Darnel,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

He scanned the management menu again, assessing his available options. If he wanted to make meaningful progress, he couldn’t just wait for mana to trickle in passively. He needed to be more strategic. But with the humans increasingly cautious, and the sheer expense of new floors looming, he needed to find a way to increase his efficiency without relying solely on expansion. There had to be another way to boost his mana intake without bleeding his reserves dry.

He thought back to the adventurers’ behavior yesterday, when they had started turning away from the second floor, refusing to engage with the more dangerous sections.

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‘It’s not enough just to have floors’, he understood. ‘I need to make each floor worth the cost.’

Riven closed the tablet and glanced over at Darnel, who was… watching him from the shadows with his usual, unsettling expression?

The kobold’s yellow eyes glinted with something that might have been admiration—or hunger. It was hard to tell.

Riven shivered.

‘Oh my god, he's staring at me.’

Those beady yellow eyes were just… unsightly. The way Darnel’s gaze lingered, unwavering, unblinking—it sent a chill down Riven’s spine that he’d never admit to aloud. He could almost feel those small, glassy eyes piercing through him, filled with an intensity that Riven found distinctly unsettling.

So… he did what felt natural.

“GET BACK TO WORK, YOU LAZY, INCOMPETENT BUM!” he screamed, his voice bouncing off the stone walls with a fierce echo.

Darnel let out a high-pitched squeal, a sound somewhere between a whimper and a squawk, and immediately cowered, huddling himself even further into the darkened corner of the hallway. He seemed to almost disappear into the shadows, his bony frame folded up like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

For a brief, satisfying moment, Riven felt a rush of power. Ah! Just like Sorvax used to do! he thought with a grin, remembering the way his old master had often barked orders at him in exactly the same tone. It felt oddly satisfying to throw around a little authority, to see someone else flinch in the way he had so many times before.

The rest of the day passed without much incident, the dungeon filling and emptying with adventurers as usual. Riven kept one eye on the tablet from time to time, watching as the red dots—the humans—moved through his domain.

He observed the familiar patterns: humans lingering at loot spots, avoiding certain dangerous areas, occasionally triggering traps. Every now and then, he saw a dot flicker out, signaling the end of an adventurer’s run. It wasn’t as thrilling as he’d expected, but it was consistent, steady.

Eventually, the day came to an end. The dungeon’s halls grew empty, the final adventurers retreating back to the entrance portal, and silence descended over his domain. No last-minute interruptions, no unexpected visitors on his floor. The operation had gone smoothly, and Riven allowed himself a satisfied nod.

“Ah! Another successful day! I could get used to this!” he thought, a touch of pride swelling in his chest.

He hadn’t been able to see what those humans who had crossed him on the first day were up to, but he liked to imagine them struggling through the second floor, running out of resources and getting bogged down in traps. Perhaps they’d even died down there, somewhere in the twisting corridors of his carefully designed maze.

A part of him—his darker, subconscious side—relished the idea of them meeting an unfortunate end, paying for the humiliation they’d caused him.

In truth, though, he hoped they’d made it to the second floor and spent a long time scrounging around, exhausting themselves, clinging to the faint hope of finding something valuable.

Ideally, they would have wasted most of their mana fighting his creatures, slogging through his traps…

And then, only when they were utterly drained, collapsed in defeat. That would be a good, satisfying harvest.

He shook his head, a pleased smile lingering as he brought his attention back to the tablet. With a few taps, he restocked the loot on both floors, ensuring that his dungeon would be ready for the next day’s visitors. But as he scanned the final mana tally, his smile faded.

Available Mana: 2,122 MP

“What?” Riven muttered, feeling a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth. “That seems… low.”

He stared at the number, blinking as if it would somehow change if he looked hard enough. But no—after accounting for the loot refill costs and daily upkeep, he’d barely made a dent in his mana goal. With two floors and all the creatures, traps, and upgrades he’d set up, he should easily have cleared 2,500 MP by now. But instead, he hadn’t even managed to break 2,200 after the expenses were deducted.

Riven felt a surge of frustration, scrolling through the tablet’s statistics screen as if he’d missed something obvious. How could it be so little? With two full floors, his returns should have been much higher. He had prepared for a profitable day, expecting that all his hard work on the second floor would pay off, yet here he was, staring at a disappointing total that barely put him ahead of where he’d been the day before.

Was it just a weak day? he wondered, rubbing his temples. Did fewer humans visit?

No, that didn’t make sense. He’d seen plenty of red dots moving through the dungeon, a steady stream of adventurers entering throughout the day. The issue wasn’t a lack of visitors—it was something else. He scanned the statistics again, hoping for a clue.

Was the dungeon too easy? He thought about it for a moment, but quickly dismissed the idea. No, only one death after all…

That was when he realized his mistake.

The problem wasn’t that his dungeon was too easy. It was that he’d designed it in such a way that the humans were retreating before they reached the second floor’s real dangers. They were coming in, picking up some loot on the first floor, and then leaving before they were truly challenged. Only a few had even made it to the second floor, and even fewer had ventured far enough to encounter the stronger creatures and traps he’d put in place. They were grabbing the easiest loot, expending as little energy as possible, and heading back to the surface.

‘I made it too intimidating’, he realized, feeling a mix of frustration and grudging respect for the humans’ survival instincts. ‘They’re avoiding the deeper parts because it’s too much of a risk.’

The second floor, meant to be a drain on their resources, was instead scaring them off entirely. Rather than pressing forward, the humans were playing it safe, taking just enough loot to feel satisfied, and then retreating before they could lose too much.

“Damn it,” he muttered, clenching his jaw. “I overdid it…”

He’d been so focused on creating a strong defensive structure, on making sure his dungeon was difficult and intimidating, that he’d forgotten a basic rule of dungeon management: adventurers needed to feel like they had a chance. If they sensed that the odds were stacked too high against them, they’d retreat without engaging, and his mana intake would suffer.

He sighed, tapping through the customization options on his tablet, already formulating a plan. If he wanted better returns, he’d have to adjust the balance—make the second floor less threatening and more enticing. He needed the adventurers to think they could handle it, to push just a bit deeper, to engage with the creatures rather than fleeing at the first sign of real danger.

“Alright, humans,” he muttered, his voice laced with determination as he began making adjustments. “Tomorrow, you’re going to want to go deeper…”