It was a huge relief, now that he had the tablet back in his hands, navigating the winding corridors of the dungeon was a completely different experience.
Before, every dark corner had held the potential for ambush; without the tablet, he’d been practically blind, with no way to know where the goblins might be lying in wait. But with the magical piece of stone in his possession, he could see the second floor’s layout clear as day—every red dot around the edges of the walls representing a goblin, each one scurrying about the map.
Riven walked calmly now, no longer feeling the need to rush or panic. He traced his path carefully, avoiding the areas where clusters of goblins lurked, ducking through side passages and taking alternate routes.
He wasn’t sure if every goblin was in on this little rebellion, but he wasn’t about to take any chances.
‘Best to avoid them all’, he thought, his lip curling in disdain.
Every so often, he passed a skeleton standing idly in the hall, staring blankly into the distance. As he walked by, he couldn’t help but give each one a critical glance. They all had the same vacant look, their hollow eye sockets devoid of anything resembling thought or expression.
It was almost comical, in a way—he’d grown so accustomed to seeing his goblins with their sneaky smirks and rebellious glances that these obedient skeletons seemed like a breath of fresh air.
‘Is that the only expression they can make?’ he wondered, amused. ‘Maybe that’s why they’re so reliable. No opinions, no schemes, just… loyalty.’
A thought began to take shape in his mind as he walked. If the goblins could form a militia to rise against him, then why couldn’t he create his own militia?
Of course, technically all the creatures in his dungeon were part of his forces, bound to serve him. But the traitorous goblins had already shown they couldn’t be trusted. He needed a loyal force—one that would obey without question.
As he passed another skeleton, he decided to test his theory. He stopped, cleared his throat, and pointed at it with a commanding tone.
“You there. Follow me.”
The skeleton didn’t hesitate. With a clatter of bones, it stepped forward, falling into line behind him. Satisfied, Riven continued down the hall, and every time he encountered another skeleton, he gave the same command. One by one, they joined his little procession, following him without a hint of resistance.
Before long, he had amassed a small army of skeletons trailing behind him, each wielding a rusty weapon or brandishing skeletal fists. The rhythmic clatter of bones grew louder with every addition, echoing through the stone corridors and making stealth all but impossible.
Riven glanced over his shoulder, watching with a grin as his skeleton militia clattered along, heads bobbing with every step. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing this loyal, albeit bony, army assembled in his honor.
“Yes! My own militia!” he crowed, unable to contain his excitement. “This is how we’ll crush those pesky bastards!”
The force was quite daunting, if he were to come across a party of humans with this at his back, they would for sure have a heart attack and die on the spot before he even got to them.
With his new entourage in tow, he abandoned all pretense of stealth. He strode down the halls with confidence, letting the loud clattering of bones act as war drums and announce his approach.
The first goblin he encountered—a lone scout skulking near a junction—took one look at the skeletal horde behind him, turned pale, and immediately bolted in the other direction.
Riven smirked, watching the red dot representing the goblin dart away on his tablet. He didn’t even need to guess where it was heading. Checking the map, he saw the goblin sprinting toward the portal room—a room already filled with a significant number of red dots clustered around the single blue dot that represented the portal to the management floor.
‘So’, he thought, chuckling darkly, ‘he’s running off to warn his little friends that their overlord’s wrath is upon them.’
Good. Let them prepare. Let them tremble. Riven’s eyes glinted with a renewed sense of purpose as he strode toward the portal room, his skeletal militia clattering along behind him.
The journey to the portal room took longer than it probably should have. Skeletons weren’t exactly known for their speed. They were more prone to dragging themselves along, their bony limbs creaking and clattering with every step. Riven’s own strides outpaced them by miles, but he forced himself to slow down to keep his skeletal army together.
‘They may be slow’, he thought, ‘but they’re loyal and dependable fighters!’ The thought brought him a small measure of pride. If nothing else, these skeletons would obey him without question.
Oddly enough, he didn’t encounter any more goblins along the way. It was as if they’d all gathered elsewhere—likely waiting for him at the portal room. As he drew closer to the large circular chamber, he could feel a tension thickening in the air. Well, he could feel it—his skeletons, on the other hand, remained as expressionless and unfeeling as ever, their empty eye sockets staring straight ahead. Riven liked to think they were equally stressed for their master’s sake… though he doubted they had the capacity for such complex feelings.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Finally, he reached the last hallway that led directly to the portal room. He stopped short, taking in the sight that awaited him.
At the far end of the hall, standing in front of the portal like some regal tyrant, was a goblin wearing a makeshift cape sewn together from scraps of cloth. It draped across his narrow shoulders, and he stood with a posture that almost looked… proud.
Behind him stood four other goblins in a neat row, their stances rigid, each clutching a mismatched weapon with surprising discipline. And further behind them, spread out in a rough formation, was a small army of twenty or so goblins for each one, each wielding an assortment of makeshift weaponry and garbed in the tattered rags they’d spawned with.
Riven felt his blood boil.
‘That’s him. That’s the bastard! The one who gave that speech by the firepit!’
He began to move forward, slower this time, his gaze locked on the goblin “commander” at the other end of the hall. His mana responded to his anger, thrumming just below the surface, eager to be unleashed.
He could practically feel it vibrating through him, coiling at the edge of his control. This goblin had humiliated him, tricked him, thrown him into a cell like he was some common adventurer. And now, here he stood, decked out in a pathetic excuse for a cape, trying to act like he was the true overlord of this dungeon.
Riven’s skeletal army clattered to a stop behind him, and he paused as something unexpected struck him.
‘Is that… a new cape?’
The goblin leader stood there, practically smirking, his cloth cape flapping slightly as if he were mocking Riven with every wrinkle. And then it hit him—this goblin had structured his forces. He hadn’t just gathered a mob; he’d appointed generals, created ranks. They were arranged in rows, each goblin standing at attention, ready for battle.
Riven glanced over his shoulder at his own “army.”
The sight that met him was… less than inspiring. His skeletons stood in a chaotic huddle, some clutching rusty swords, others wielding chipped bows, and many simply brandishing bony fists. They were a ragtag bunch, unorganized and slightly crooked, some missing bits of armor or even limbs. A few had scraps of cloth on them, but none had anything resembling the uniformity of the goblin ranks.
‘I can’t have this!’ Riven thought, his face twisting in indignation. ‘I’m a demon overlord of this dungeon, and my rebellion’s forces look more prestigious than my loyal ones!’
He frowned, scanning the nearest skeletons. His finger shot out, pointing at two of them more or less at random. They turned to face him, their hollow eye sockets somehow managing to look vaguely confused.
“You and you! You’re generals now. Lead,” he commanded, trying to inject some semblance of authority into his tone.
The two skeletons looked at each other, as if exchanging a silent is this guy serious? But then they turned back to him, giving the faintest nods, and shuffled forward, taking their new positions at the head of the disorganized mass.
Satisfied, Riven turned back to the goblin horde at the end of the hall. He took a deep breath, preparing himself to deliver a speech that would instill terror in the hearts of his foes.
“HEY!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the chamber. “GIVE UP NOW, AND I MIGHT LET YOU LIV—YOU MIGHT SURV—well…” He struggled, searching for a proper threat that didn’t imply any sort of mercy.
He was all out of it.
“I’LL MAKE IT QUICK!”
The goblin leader sneered, unimpressed, and took a step forward, his ragged cape swaying behind him.
Riven felt a pang of frustration. Clearly, leniency was wasted on this lot. His patience was gone, and any chance for a peaceful surrender was well and truly out the window.
The goblin leader jabbed a gnarled finger in Riven’s direction and snarled something in their guttural language. Whatever he said, it had an immediate effect—the goblins behind him raised their weapons and let out a war cry, a ragged, piercing sound that filled the hallway.
Riven’s grip tightened around the tablet, his face twisting into a scowl.
‘They want a fight? Fine. I’ll give them a fight.’
He raised his arm, signaling his skeletal army forward.
“CHARGE!” he roared, his voice reverberating off the stone walls.
After a moment of silence…
Riven’s skeletal forces surged forward, clattering and rattling as they rushed past him, their hollow eyes fixed on the goblins ahead.
The goblins, to their credit, quickly organized themselves, with the four “generals” and their caped leader retreating behind the front line, rallying the rest of their forces. The two armies met in a cacophony of clashing bones and shrieking goblins, and the line between skeleton and goblin quickly blurred as the skirmishes erupted into a full-scale melee.
Riven observed the chaos with a pleased grin, his arms crossed as he watched his skeletons tear into the goblins.
‘This shouldn’t take long’, he thought, narrowing his eyes.
After all, he outnumbered the goblins two to one. They may have had a few makeshift weapons and raggedy armor, but he had sheer numbers on his side, not to mention his inherent superiority as a dungeon master. Victory was all but assured.
Just as he was mentally preparing his victory speech, something whizzed past his face, barely grazing his cheek.
“Gah!” he gasped, stumbling backward, one hand instinctively reaching for his face as a sharp sting flared along his cheekbone. He looked down, feeling something warm and sticky trickling down his fingers. Blood. His blood.
Fear flooded his body as he could have been rather hurt by the arrow if the archer was a better shot, he could have maimed him quite badly, or even…
He shivered.
‘How dare they?!’
His other hand tightened, and he quickly summoned his own mana, letting it coalesce around him in a dense barrier of red light, forming a shield to protect himself from any more sneak attacks. His rage simmered as he scanned the battlefield, searching for the goblin brazen enough to target him directly.
And then he saw him.
Through the chaos of clashing skeletons and goblins, beyond the thrashing limbs and swinging weapons, the goblin leader stood at the back of his forces, lowering a makeshift bow, his eyes locked on Riven with a satisfied, taunting smirk.
‘That’s him. That’s the one.’
Riven’s blood boiled as he met the goblin leader’s gaze, the insolent grin etched across the creature’s face fueling his rage. The goblin had dared to strike him, to spill his blood, as if Riven was nothing more than another adventurer to be challenged.
“YOU BASTARD!” Riven roared, his voice echoing through the chamber.
The goblin leader’s smirk only widened. He lifted the bow again, tauntingly drawing it back as if to take another shot.
Only… this time it wasn’t a normal arrow he was knocking.