Riven had a few ideas on how to entice the humans to have higher ambitions than just the first floor of his dungeon. As much as he’d designed the second floor to be an added layer of protection for his own floor, he hadn’t intended for it to be ignored altogether. If adventurers were going to avoid it entirely, then it was little more than a waste of mana, a drain on his reserves for daily upkeep with no return on investment.

‘If it isn’t producing anything, he thought, then it’s dead weight.’

He leaned back in his throne, fingers drumming on the armrests as he considered his options. There has to be a way to make them willing to go deeper, he mused. A few ideas sprang to mind—strategies he’d read about in Sorvax’s library. One book, dusty with age and filled with diagrams of dungeon layouts, had discussed various techniques to lure humans into more dangerous areas.

One method was to increase the amount of loot spawned on that floor. Humans, weak and greedy creatures that they were, were naturally drawn to treasure. If he placed more loot on the second floor, it would almost certainly tempt more of them to venture down. He could practically see it: the adventurers’ eyes widening at the sight of sparkling trinkets, their greedy little hands reaching out, lured in like moths to a flame.

Of course, there was a catch. More loot meant more humans would enter the floor, but it also meant more deaths on that floor. And while Riven didn’t mind seeing a few of them fall prey to his traps and monsters—no, that was actually quite enjoyable—he also knew that too many deaths could discourage future adventurers from entering at all.

‘While I don’t mind that… the humans might’, he thought with a smirk.

A high casualty rate was bad for business. Humans might be simple-minded, but they weren’t entirely stupid. News of heavy losses could spread, deterring potential adventurers from even stepping foot in his dungeon. A delicate balance was needed; he couldn’t make the second floor too deadly, or he risked scaring off his main source of mana.

‘So, that won’t work by itself’, he thought, dismissing the idea for the moment.

Instead, he focused on another approach, one that had proven popular among other dungeon masters: making it easier for them.

Riven chuckled at the thought. Humans really were laughably weak. If he wanted more adventurers to pass through his lower floors, he’d simply need to make the path a bit less treacherous. After all, he didn’t want his lower floors to repel humans entirely—just to drain their mana and resources bit by bit. And if he designed the floor right, he could let them think they were making progress, all while gradually sapping their strength.

He navigated to the tablet’s floor settings, swiping through the options until he reached the configuration menu for the second floor. Since he hadn’t placed any traps on this floor, his options for making it “easier” were limited. He could, however, reduce the number of creatures. Less resistance meant humans would feel bolder, and hopefully, they’d wander in with their guard down, eager for loot.

The creatures on the second floor were mainly level-two skeletons and goblins, both effective at their respective roles. The skeletons patrolled the halls, slow but relentless, while the goblins hid in the shadows, leaping out for quick, chaotic ambushes. Riven couldn’t help but chuckle as he recalled the humans’ panicked reactions when a goblin sprang from the darkness.

‘It really is amusing’, he thought, his grin widening.

But the goblins, for all their entertainment value, might be part of the problem. The sudden, unpredictable attacks seemed to startle humans more than the skeletons did, creating a sense of danger that was perhaps too strong. And if humans were getting spooked and fleeing too early, then those goblins were costing him mana without delivering the returns he needed.

He sighed, reluctantly highlighting the goblin entries on his tablet. Removing them would make the floor less threatening and give humans fewer reasons to panic and turn back. A calculated sacrifice, he told himself, trying to soothe his irritation at the wasted mana.

He hovered over the Remove button, hesitating for a split second before finally pressing it.

…

Nothing happened.

Riven blinked, staring at the screen in confusion. The goblins remained on the map display, their icons clustered in the dark corners where he’d positioned them. He jabbed at the Remove button again, this time a little harder. Still nothing. The goblins persisted, stubbornly clinging to their spots as if mocking his authority.

“What…?” he muttered, feeling a prickle of annoyance.

‘This should be working.’

He was the dungeon master now, the one in control. The tablet should obey him without question. Yet here he was, outsmarted by his own device.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper in check. Maybe it was a simple glitch.

‘Don’t let it get under your skin’, he thought, remembering how Sorvax would handle situations like this. Sorvax would never let a minor inconvenience ruffle his feathers—he would simply find a solution.

Riven exited the Remove menu, navigated back to the creature list, and selected the goblins again. He hit Remove once more, this time with a deliberate, steady press.

Nothing. The goblins remained, their icons unmoving, stubbornly fixed on the screen.

Riven frowned, feeling a surge of irritation. He needed this adjustment to work. If humans were going to be too scared to push past the second floor, he’d have to make it seem manageable, enticing.

Sorvax had taught him that a dungeon wasn’t just about brute strength; it was about coaxing humans deeper, keeping them just brave enough to keep going—and weak enough to keep spending their mana.

So… why wouldn’t the tablet listen?

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Riven narrowed his eyes at the unresponsive screen, then gave it an annoyed flick.

“Piece of junk,” he muttered under his breath.

The tablet had always worked seamlessly under Sorvax’s care. Riven, however, was beginning to suspect that it had a bit of spite reserved just for him.

With the tablet refusing to cooperate, Riven had no choice but to take matters into his own hands. If he couldn’t command the goblins to leave through the tablet’s interface, he’d have to go down to the second floor himself and sort this out the hard way.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he rose from his throne, brushing imaginary dust off his robes.

‘Just what I need’, he thought bitterly. ‘A field trip’.

Steeling himself, he strode into the hallway and passed Darnel, who was lurking in the shadows nearby, still watching him with those unsettling eyes. The kobold tensed as Riven approached, visibly shrinking back, but Riven barely gave him a second glance. He had more pressing concerns than Darnel’s anxieties.

Moving swiftly, Riven stepped into the portal that connected his floor to the lower levels, and with a brief surge of mana, he found himself on the second floor.

The dim, oppressive atmosphere felt even heavier here without the usual influx of adventurers. Since the dungeon wasn’t open yet, the monsters were in a restless state, prowling through the hallways and sniffing around, eager for any “leftovers” from the last harvest. Their eyes gleamed with a hunger that only grew during off-hours, but of course, they wouldn’t dare lay a claw on him—their dungeon master.

Riven adjusted his posture, straightening his back as he strode confidently through the corridors, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of what might be causing the goblin issue. Every so often, he would pass one of his skeleton guards, each of whom would halt and salute him in a perfectly synchronized, clattering motion. The skeletons, for all their lack of brains, were loyal to the core—exactly as they should be.

But the goblins… well, they were a different story.

As he passed one, he noticed the creature’s gaze lingered on him a bit too long, its face twisted into a complex expression he could only describe as… resentful? He quickened his pace, ignoring the strange feeling gnawing at him, only to catch sight of another goblin lurking in an alcove, muttering under its breath as he passed.

Riven could’ve sworn he saw that one spit in his direction.

‘Uh… what?’ he thought, genuinely baffled.

Goblins were low-level monsters, simple creatures with barely two brain cells to rub together. They had no reason to have opinions about him—or so he’d thought.

He continued down the winding halls, increasingly aware of the uneasy, almost hostile stares the goblins threw his way. Where the skeletons greeted him with perfect subservience, each goblin he encountered seemed to radiate something closer to… contempt. A quiet sense of rebellion that put him on edge.

“What the hell is going on here?” he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up again.

Finally, after several turns through the labyrinthine passages, he came upon a larger chamber, dimly lit but noticeably brighter than the surrounding hallways. A faint, flickering light danced along the walls, casting strange shadows across the stone.

Curious, Riven stepped closer and realized that the light came from a small fire—an actual fire pit, right in the middle of his dungeon.

Around the fire, a crowd of goblins had gathered, huddled together in a loose semicircle. At the center stood a slightly larger goblin, who seemed to be holding court, gesturing wildly and shouting with a fervor that made the flames flicker and sway. His shadow stretched across the wall, looming far larger than his actual figure, and he pounded his chest with exaggerated intensity as he spoke.

“Greh!” the goblin leader shouted, voice guttural and full of conviction.

Riven stopped in the doorway, utterly perplexed.

‘Uh… what’s this?’

As he observed, the goblin’s words grew more animated, the guttural noises and hand gestures becoming almost theatrical. The gathered goblins responded with grunts and mutters, nodding along, their beady eyes filled with something that looked alarmingly like… agreement.

Then, as if sensing Riven’s presence, the goblin leader turned and fixed his gaze on him, and immediately his expression darkened. He jabbed a bony finger in Riven’s direction and raised his voice, this time shouting directly at him.

“GREH! GREH GREH!”

Riven blinked, momentarily stunned. The goblin’s tone was unmistakably hostile, his words—a string of snarling goblin sounds that Riven couldn’t understand—dripping with contempt.

‘This little wretch… he’s shouting at me?’

As if on cue, the other goblins joined in, turning to face him with snarls and sneers, all of them echoing the leader’s unintelligible shouts. Their voices grew louder, the sound swelling into a raucous chorus of discontent that reverberated off the stone walls. It was chaotic, defiant… a direct affront to his authority.

Riven’s blood boiled. He didn’t need to understand goblin-speak to get the message.

‘These miserable little wretches are complaining about me! In my own dungeon!’

Well, he’d had enough. His patience frayed, Riven drew himself up to his full height, he would deal with this the way Sorvax taught him to…albeit through negative reinforcement.

His voice rang out loud and sharp as he channeled every ounce of authority he could muster.

“DON’T YOU YELL AT ME, YOU INEPT CREATURES!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber with a commanding force that even surprised him.

The room went deathly silent. Every goblin froze, their mouths hanging open mid-shout, their eyes wide as they stared at him in shock. The leader’s bony arm fell to his side, and for a brief, blissful moment, Riven allowed himself to feel victorious.

‘Ah! That should solve it!’

But then as he reached for his management tablet… it didn’t.

The silence lasted only a heartbeat before the goblin leader puffed up his chest, baring his crooked teeth in a defiant snarl.

“GREH! GREH GREH!” he screeched, even louder than before, and the entire crowd of goblins erupted with him, their voices rising in a unified chorus of defiance. It was a cacophony of ugly, snarling sounds that reverberated off the chamber walls, filling the air with a chaotic energy that made Riven’s skin crawl.

Riven’s eye twitched as he felt his control over the situation slipping.

‘This is absurd’, he thought, gritting his teeth. ‘I am the dungeon master! These pathetic goblins should be groveling, not… staging some sort of revolt!’

The leader goblin pointed at him again, gesturing to the fire, to the other goblins, his harsh words flowing in an impassioned tirade that Riven couldn’t understand but somehow knew was deeply, personally insulting. It was as if the goblin were rallying the others against him, sowing the seeds of a tiny, ridiculous rebellion.

Riven was at a loss.

In all his time under Sorvax’s tutelage, he’d never once heard of goblins banding together to protest. Creatures as lowly as goblins didn’t do things like this—they weren’t supposed to organize, or scheme, or give speeches around campfires. They were meant to lurk in shadows, jump out at adventurers, and die when ordered. But this scene before him was nothing short of a mutiny.

Feeling his face grow hot with anger, Riven raised a hand, ready to summon a burst of magic to silence them by force. But a small, nagging voice in the back of his mind—perhaps Sorvax’s—reminded him that dealing with underlings required finesse.

Forcing himself to calm down, he lowered his hand and took a deep breath.

‘There has to be a way to end this without wasting mana…’

He cleared his throat, attempting to speak in a more authoritative but controlled tone. “You… are creatures of my dungeon,” he said slowly, enunciating each word with forced patience. “I am your master. You serve me. Understood?”

The goblin leader cocked his head, looking at Riven as if he were speaking an entirely different language—which, of course, he was. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, the goblin turned his back on Riven, crossing his arms and muttering darkly to the crowd.

Riven could feel his last shred of patience snapping.

‘Fine’, he thought, clenching his fists. ‘If they won’t listen… I’ll just have to make them.’

Stepping forward, he gathered his mana, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to unleash a spell that would remind these creatures exactly who was in charge.