Walking through the glowing portal, Riven stepped into the familiar hallway that led back toward his chamber. He barely had time to adjust to the dim lighting before a sudden figure lunged at him from the side, blade glinting in the faint glow of the portal.

“Ah!” he yelped, instinctively dropping to the floor in a most undignified sprawl, shielding his head with his arms.

The blade whistled through the air above him, missing by mere inches. The sound of it cutting through the space where his neck had just been was enough to send a shiver down his spine. His heart raced as he scrambled to his knees, trying to process what had just happened.

Then he heard it—a faint, cowardly shriek echoing from the shadows.

Riven’s eyes darted toward the source of the sound. A shape was retreating into the darkness, back to whatever corner it had come from. His eyes narrowed, mana flaring instinctively in response to his growing anger. He could feel the energy coiling around him like a rising storm, a reflection of his brewing fury.

“DARNEL!” he roared, his voice amplified by the mana swirling through him.

The walls of the hallway seemed to tremble slightly, dust shaking loose from the cracks in the stone. “I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU EVER SWING AT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN, I WILL MAKE YOU REGRET IT!”

The figure in the shadows froze. Then, slowly, sheepishly, Darnel the Kobold stepped into the dim light, his bony tail dragging behind him as he cringed under Riven’s glare. His wide, beady eyes were filled with what Riven could only assume was a mix of guilt and confusion.

In one clawed hand, he held a rusted short sword, its edge still gleaming faintly with the remnants of whatever enchantment had been placed on it when it spawned. He was hunched, ears flattened against his head, as though trying to make himself as small as possible.

“S-sreeeek!” Darnel squeaked, a pathetic attempt at an apology.

He quickly dropped the blade, letting it clatter to the floor as he crouched even lower, his whole body quivering.

Riven let out a slow, furious breath. His mana, which had flared so brightly in his rage, began to recede, pulling back into him as he stood to his full height.

“What,” he said coldly, “were you thinking?”

Darnel made a series of unintelligible noises, gesturing wildly at the portal and then back at Riven. It took a moment for Riven to piece it together, but he eventually realized what the kobold was trying to say: Darnel had mistaken him for an intruder.

Riven rubbed his temples, his anger softening—slightly. He was still furious that Darnel had almost decapitated him, but he supposed the kobold had been doing his job… albeit too enthusiastically. After all, Darnel’s sole purpose was to guard the portal and keep intruders from reaching Riven’s floor. And in fairness, Riven had walked through the portal unannounced, his presence likely unexpected.

Still, it was unacceptable for one of his own minions to attack him. There had to be consequences, or Darnel might think this kind of behavior was okay.

“You,” Riven said, pointing a finger at the groveling kobold. Darnel flinched, squealing softly. “Do you have any idea what you just did? You swung at me. Your lord.” His voice grew louder with each word, and Darnel pressed himself even lower to the ground, almost flat against the stone.

Riven folded his arms, glaring down at the cowering creature. “I’m not going to banish you,” he said after a moment, his voice steady but sharp. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually hit me, or we’d be having a very different conversation right now. But you will be punished.”

Darnel let out a pitiful whimper, his tail curling tightly around his legs.

“For the next week,” Riven continued, pacing back and forth as he considered the severity of the punishment, “you’re on the lowest tier of meat scraps. No enchanted leftovers. No cooked meals from the adventurers’ provisions. Just raw, unseasoned rat meat. And no complaints! Do you understand me?”

The kobold stared at him blankly, his beady, unblinking eyes giving nothing away. Yet, there was something about his nod—quick, a little too eager—that made Riven suspicious.

‘Wait… is he… okay with this punishment?’ Riven frowned.

Darnel was far too agreeable about being stuck with rat scraps for a week. He tilted his head, the thought gnawing at him. Have I been letting him off too easily this whole time? He rubbed his temples, exhaling sharply.

‘Argh! I’ll have to come up with something harsher later. He deserves more than rat scraps for trying to take my head off!’

Still, it occurred to him that Darnel hadn’t attacked out of disobedience or malice. No, the kobold had been doing exactly what he’d been assigned to do—protect the portal. Riven realized he’d been gone for longer than usual, likely long enough to make his most loyal creature think something might have happened to him. And if something had happened, Darnel would have been the last line of defense, charged with keeping intruders from reaching the management floor.

The thought cooled his anger slightly. He regarded the kobold in a new light… albeit through the dim glow of the portal. The flickering blue light cast long shadows over Darnel’s hunched form, highlighting his rat-like snout and the coarse, scaly skin stretched over his wiry frame.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

‘Eugh… still ugly’, Riven thought, his stomach twisting slightly at the sight. The light didn’t do Darnel any favors, but then again, nothing ever did.

Even so, Riven couldn’t deny what was plain to see: Darnel’s loyalty was absolute. Despite his grotesque appearance and overeagerness to stab first and think later, the kobold had stayed true to his purpose. He had jumped into action at the first sign of an “intruder,” fearless and ready to lay down his life for his lord.

The realization brought an unexpected pang of appreciation. Riven’s mana, which had been simmering at the surface, flared briefly before subsiding entirely. His shoulders relaxed as his anger ebbed away.

“You’re loyal,” he muttered aloud, the words strange and unfamiliar on his tongue. “And I… suppose I appreciate that.”

Darnel blinked, his head tilting slightly to one side, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard his master correctly. Then, without warning, the kobold dropped to his knees and bowed deeply, pressing his snout to the cold stone floor. His wiry tail coiled tightly around his legs, and for a brief moment, Riven thought he looked almost… reverent.

Riven blinked.

‘Uh… what?’ He hadn’t expected this level of dramatic submission. It was both flattering and deeply uncomfortable.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough of that,” he said quickly, waving his hand as if to shoo the kobold back to his post.

“No need for all this bowing and scraping. Just… just don’t swing at me again, understood?”

With that, he walked away toward the throne room.

There was a lot to do.

He had been gone for a while, after all.

Riven sighed deeply as he made his way toward the throne that sat at the far end of the room. Its cold stone surface gleamed faintly in the dim light of his management floor, a familiar beacon in a realm where nothing ever seemed stable. He sank into it with a huff, leaning back as his mind began to churn with thoughts, unwelcome and intrusive.

This was the one place in the dungeon where he could feel truly safe, truly comfortable. The one floor where no human would dare set foot—where they couldn’t set foot unless they were suicidal or absurdly powerful. And yet, as he sat there, gazing up at the stalactites jutting from the ceiling above, Riven couldn’t help but feel an unsettling weight in his chest.

Melancholy, thick and heavy, settled over him like a shroud.

‘I solved the problem, didn’t I?’ he thought bitterly.

The goblins were gone. The rebellion had been quashed, the second floor was more secure than it had ever been, and his mana stores were intact—for now. And yet…

Riven rubbed the bridge of his nose, letting his head fall back against the edge of the throne. He felt a pang of something that he didn’t quite want to name, something uncomfortable that churned in his gut.

He felt bad.

He didn’t want to feel bad, of course. What did he have to feel guilty about? The goblins had risen up against him, defied his authority, and tried to take over his dungeon. He’d had every right to put them down, every right to dismiss them.

But… had it been entirely their fault?

He frowned, his claws tapping idly against the armrest of the throne. Monsters were supposed to listen to their overlord, to follow his commands without question. That was how dungeons worked. How they’d always worked. The creatures spawned within his walls existed for one purpose: to protect the dungeon, harvest mana from the adventurers, and, above all, obey him.

And yet… they hadn’t.

The goblins had disobeyed him, turning against him in what could only be described as a full-blown coup. But why? What had made them rise up in the first place?

Monsters weren’t supposed to have thoughts like that—or at least, not independent ones. They weren’t supposed to organize, or gather around a leader, or plot rebellions.

Riven’s brows furrowed as his mind wrestled with the questions that refused to leave him alone.

‘Was it because I was unfair to them?’

He didn’t want to admit it, but the thought clawed at the edges of his mind. He’d created those goblins, fostered them within his dungeon, given them life and purpose. And yet, when they became inconvenient—when they posed even the slightest threat to his dungeon’s stability—he had discarded them without a second thought.

Had they known that was what he was going to do?

He shivered, unsettled by the idea. Monsters weren’t supposed to have that level of awareness, were they? And yet, the goblins on the second floor had clearly seen the writing on the wall. They’d turned against him before he could turn against them.

The more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him. He’d acted as though the goblins were disposable, like they were nothing more than tools to be used and thrown away. But if they could rebel, what was stopping the goblins on the first floor from doing the same thing?

The idea sent a chill down his spine. He glanced at the Dungeon Management Tablet resting on the arm of his throne, its screen glowing faintly. The map of his dungeon flickered across the display, the red dots of his creatures scattered across the first and second floors.

What would he do if those dots suddenly turned against him?

Riven grimaced, running a clawed hand through his hair. He hated this—this feeling of doubt, of uncertainty. He was supposed to be in control here. He was the dungeon master. This was his dungeon, and the creatures within it were supposed to bend to his will.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought that maybe… just maybe… he’d been too harsh.

The goblins hadn’t asked to be created. They hadn’t asked to exist within his dungeon. He’d brought them into the world, given them purpose, and when they’d outlived their usefulness, he’d discarded them like trash.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought.

“Ugh,” Riven groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going soft. I’m actually going soft.”

Sorvax would’ve laughed himself silly if he could see Riven now, sitting on his throne and brooding over whether or not he’d been fair to a bunch of goblins.

But Sorvax wasn’t here.

Riven sat there in silence for a long moment, staring down at the tablet in his lap. The screen flickered as he swiped through the menus, checking the status of the first-floor creatures. The goblins were still there, clustered in their usual spots, their numbers slightly diminished but still sufficient to keep adventurers on their toes.

They hadn’t shown any signs of rebellion… yet.

Riven leaned back, his gaze fixed on the screen. He needed to be smarter about this. If he wanted to avoid another rebellion, he’d have to figure out why the goblins on the second floor had turned against him in the first place.

‘Was it me? Was I too demanding? Too dismissive? Or was it something else entirely?’’

The questions circled in his mind, unanswered and infuriating.

But one thing was clear: if he wanted to maintain control over his dungeon, he couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility that his creatures were capable of more than blind obedience.

With a heavy sigh, Riven set the tablet aside and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the back of the throne. He’d figure it out. He had to. Because if he didn’t…

‘I might not be so lucky next time.’