After a while, Riven had thought himself into despair.

Sitting slumped on his stone throne, chin propped in one hand, his mind circled endlessly around the same uncomfortable questions. Were my actions justified? he asked himself again, though he already knew there was no clear answer. He had done what was necessary to protect the dungeon, yes, but that didn’t erase the uneasy weight of guilt gnawing at the back of his mind.

“Ugh,” he groaned, rubbing at his temples. “I can’t sit here and think about this forever… or I’ll actually go insane.”

With no real solution in sight, and not much else to do while the dungeon lay dormant, Riven reluctantly picked up the Dungeon Management Tablet that rested against the arm of his throne. Its surface shimmered faintly, reflecting the dim light of the room. Swiping through the menus lazily, he eventually navigated to the “Start Next Day” button.

He hesitated for only a moment, staring at the glowing command.

‘Time to see if this disaster will spiral further out of control… or if today’s harvest will finally go smoothly.’

With a heavy sigh, Riven tapped the button.

Immediately, the tablet’s screen shifted, a bright flash signaling the beginning of a new day. The dungeon sprang to life on the map before him, red dots suddenly populating the first floor as adventurers began spilling into its labyrinthine halls.

The sight should have brought him some satisfaction—a new batch of adventurers meant another chance to prove the dungeon’s worth and gather mana—but instead, it only made him feel uneasy.

The red dots moved quickly, splitting into smaller groups and darting through the twisting corridors of the first floor. Riven watched them with furrowed brows, feeling a strange sense of apprehension creep over him.

“They’re here already,” he muttered to himself. “So eager to throw themselves into danger… these humans never change.”

Despite his grim mood, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes glued to the map. The tablet’s screen displayed every movement in real time, the red dots scurrying through the dungeon like ants.

Adventurers of varying party sizes moved through the corridors, some veering toward loot spawns, others hesitating as they encountered traps or monsters. A handful of them lingered near the entrance, clearly debating whether to proceed further.

The first floor seemed to be performing well enough—skeletons clashed with small groups of adventurers in several locations, and Riven noted with a bit of satisfaction that the traps he’d set were still doing their job. The occasional red dot winked out, signifying a party member’s demise.

“Good,” he muttered, his voice low. “That’ll keep them on edge.”

But his focus quickly shifted to the second floor, where he now had far fewer creatures stationed. After removing the goblins entirely, the only remaining inhabitants were his skeletons—sturdy and loyal, but far from the cunning ambush predators the goblins had been.

Would it be enough to keep adventurers occupied? Or would they blow through the second floor too quickly, making it all the way to the portal room?

Riven tapped the screen to shift his view to the second floor. For now, it seemed quiet. Most adventurers were still focused on the first floor, gathering loot and testing their strength against its inhabitants.

But it wouldn’t stay quiet for long.

Leaning back in his throne, Riven continued to watch, his mood hovering somewhere between anticipation and unease.

‘Maybe today will go better… maybe.’

Still, the lingering weight of his earlier doubts refused to leave him entirely. As much as he tried to focus on the red dots darting across the screen, his mind kept circling back to the goblins. Had he made the right choice in removing them? Would the skeletons be enough to maintain the second floor’s challenge and keep the humans from getting complacent?

“Only one way to find out,” he murmured, his voice barely audible in the empty chamber.

And so, Riven waited, watching the movements on the map as the first harvest of the day began to unfold.

But the curiosity of their actions was just too bizarre to quell.

As much as Riven tried to focus on the movements of the red dots across the dungeon map, his mind refused to let go of the rebellion. Why had it happened at all? Sorvax had never spoken of such a thing—of dungeon creatures turning against their master. And if any had dared to rebel, Sorvax would have obliterated them without hesitation.

Riven had done the same to his goblins. He’d crushed their uprising, dismissed their defiant leader, and scattered their mana back into the dungeon. It should have been a simple, righteous act—an assertion of authority. But no matter how he spun it in his mind, it didn’t feel righteous.

‘Why does it feel unforgivable?’ he thought, his fingers tightening around the edge of the tablet. The rebellion was their fault, not his. Monsters were meant to follow orders, to obey without question. The goblins had turned against him—he’d had every right to punish them. So why did the guilt continue to claw at him?

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Sitting here in his throne room was getting him nowhere. With much thought to be had and little progress made, Riven decided to focus on something more productive.

He set the tablet down and stood with a sigh, his robes swishing as he turned toward the hallway.

‘I’ll plan for upgrades’, he decided.

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The skeletons on the second floor might not be enough to deter adventurers from reaching his floor, and if humans were already mapping paths to the portal, he needed to act quickly.

Walking past the mana crates—currently empty after the previous day’s collection—he made his way toward the laboratory. The air grew cooler as he entered, the faint scent of sulfur and dried herbs wafting through the chamber. Sorvax had used this space to craft some of his most ingenious creations: potions that boosted resilience, enchanted traps, and weapons that could tear through even the most heavily armored adventurers.

Riven glanced around at the rows of dusty shelves, cluttered with flasks, mortars, and pestles.

‘If only I could replicate even a fraction of what Sorvax accomplished here…’ he thought wistfully.

He approached the main workstation, a long stone table littered with the remnants of experiments past—half-empty vials of strange, glowing liquids, scribbled notes he could barely decipher, and a set of tools that looked more suited for torture than alchemy. He picked up one of the notes, frowning at the barely legible handwriting.

“Let’s see,” he muttered, scanning the paper. “Sorvax had a resilience buff added to some floors… but those were on the higher ones. Making the skeletons super resilient on the second floor would be… catastrophic.”

He shook his head, tossing the note back onto the table. No, that wouldn’t work. If the skeletons became too durable, they’d end up killing every adventurer who reached the second floor. That would scare off future adventurers—or worse, attract a stronger party who would destroy everything in retaliation.

What he needed was balance.

Riven tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table, his mind churning. The first floor had already been a success, with weak enough creatures and traps to challenge adventurers while still allowing most of them to escape with minor wounds. That setup had siphoned off their mana effectively without scaring them away. The second floor would need to operate on a similar principle: a little tougher, but not impossible.

“I don’t want to kill them all,” he muttered to himself, pacing as he thought. “I just need to make it interesting enough to drain their mana and skim off the top… so to speak.”

He glanced at the various potions lining the shelves, their contents glowing faintly in shades of red, green, and blue. A few of them were labeled, but most were useless, given as a basic resource when the room was formed.

Riven’s eyes landed on a small, dusty flask filled with a thick, murky liquid. The label read: “Undead Enhancement: Controlled Strength.”

He picked it up, holding it up to the light. “Huh. Controlled strength,” he mused. “This could work…”

The idea began to take shape in his mind. If he could enhance the skeletons just enough to give them an edge—but not enough to make them unkillable—it might strike the perfect balance.

They’d pose a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. Adventurers would need to spend mana and resources to get past them, but they’d still feel confident enough to push forward to the third floor.

The third floor… He frowned, realizing he didn’t even have the mana to create it yet.

‘No’, he thought. ‘One step at a time.’

For now, the second floor was his priority. If he could tweak the skeletons’ behavior and abilities just slightly, he could make up for the loss of the goblins and ensure that the floor remained effective.

He set the flask down carefully, returning to the shelves to look for more useful ingredients. Potions of regeneration, mild agility enhancements—anything that could make the skeletons more dynamic without overpowering them. As he searched, he felt a small spark of hope flicker in the back of his mind.

Sorvax might not have prepared him for everything, but Riven was starting to realize that he didn’t need to rely entirely on his master’s teachings. He had his own ideas, his own instincts, and maybe—just maybe—he’d find a way to make this dungeon his own.

“Controlled strength,” he repeated to himself, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see if we can turn this mess into something profitable.”

And with that, Riven got to work.

The result of the spark was a potion of white transparency.

It wasn’t much to look at—a faintly shimmering liquid that seemed more like cloudy water than a magical concoction. But the simplicity of its appearance belied its carefully tuned purpose: to enhance the skeletons’ strength just enough to give them an edge. They’d be tough enough to challenge adventurers, forcing them to expend mana and resources, but not so powerful that they’d wipe out every party that ventured onto the second floor.

Riven held the flask up to the dim light, watching it swirl lazily inside its container.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself, satisfied with the result.

It wasn’t the most impressive creation to ever come out of the laboratory—Sorvax had brewed potions that could rend the flesh from bones or turn entire adventuring parties against one another—but for Riven’s current needs, this would do just fine.

Grabbing the potion, he turned and began meandering back toward the throne room, the flask held carefully in one hand. He was already envisioning the effects it would have, imagining the skeletons clashing with adventurers, forcing them to think strategically instead of barreling forward recklessly. It was exactly the kind of balance he needed.

But as he approached the throne room, something immediately felt… off.

The door leading to the hall was slightly ajar, its heavy stone slab cracked open just enough to make his stomach twist.

“Uh…” he muttered aloud, staring at the gap. “I did not open that.”

Setting the potion down on the table beside his throne—far enough away to keep it safe—Riven moved cautiously toward the door. His fingers flexed instinctively, ready to summon his mana at a moment’s notice.

Peering into the hall, he immediately spotted the source of the disturbance.

“Darnel!”

The kobold was sprawled on the floor, writhing and whimpering pitifully. His claws scratched weakly at the stone as he squirmed, his beady eyes squeezed shut as though blinded by some unbearable light.

“Darnel! What the hell happened?” Riven barked, stepping into the hall.

Darnel let out a pathetic squeak in response, one claw twitching feebly toward the overturned crates of mana scattered around the hall.

It was then that Riven’s eyes fell on the mess. Several of the mana crates near the corner of the hall had been knocked over, their contents spilled across the floor. A few mana crystals still lay scattered on the ground, but the sight immediately sent his blood boiling.

“DARNEL, YOU LET HUMANS TAKE THE MANA?!”

The kobold’s eyes snapped open at that, his whole body convulsing as he squeaked loudly—an unmistakable sound of protest.

He looked deeply offended, his claws flailing as if to say, ‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing?!’

Riven narrowed his eyes, his mana sparking faintly in the air around him. “Don’t give me that look,” he growled.

“The crates are overturned, you’re on the floor, and there’s mana everywhere. What else am I supposed to think?”

Darnel let out another squeal, gesturing frantically toward the hall leading to the first floor. His gestures were wild and erratic, but Riven caught enough to understand: something—or someone—had attacked him.

Or maybe he attacked them… one of the two.

“Humans,” Riven hissed, his fingers curling into fists. His worst fear was confirmed. Somehow, adventurers had managed to bypass the second floor entirely and make it to the portal leading to his management floor.

But then… why weren’t the mana crates completely empty? Why hadn’t they taken everything?

He frowned, glancing back at Darnel, who was still lying on the floor, shivering. It didn’t make sense. If humans had made it this far, surely they would have raided the crates entirely. But there were still crystals left behind, scattered in the mess.

Kneeling down beside Darnel, Riven grabbed the kobold by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him up slightly.

“Alright, you useless gremlin,” he said sharply. “What happened? Did they leave? Did you scare them off?”

Darnel’s eyes opened just a sliver, his pupils constricted as though he’d been staring directly into the sun. He squeaked softly, his head drooping.