With all of his preparations for the second floor complete, Riven could finally let his dungeon do what it was meant to do: harvest mana.

It wasn’t long before the day’s harvest ended, and Riven eagerly flipped to the statistics page of the dungeon management menu to check his spoils. His crimson eyes scanned the screen, anticipation buzzing through him like static.

Available Mana: 2,241 MP.

He froze, staring at the number as though it had personally insulted him.

“…It’s like I didn’t even do a harvest,” he muttered darkly, his lips curling into a snarl.

‘Pests…’ he thought bitterly, gripping the tablet as frustration simmered in his chest. No matter how much effort he poured into his dungeon, it seemed that adventurers—the filthy, greedy pests—found ways to squander his hard-earned progress.

And yet…

Riven’s lips curled into a faint, predatory grin.

Now that the second floor had been properly fortified with enhanced skeletons and the rebellious goblins were no more, adventurers would face a much steeper challenge. If they thought they could waltz through his dungeon and plunder his resources with impunity, they were in for a rude awakening.

Their pathetic struggles, their frantic attempts to survive, would only serve to fuel his reserves.

At least… until he built the third floor.

Riven sighed, leaning back in his throne as he glanced back down at the tablet, his grimace deepening.

He sighed again, clicking the refill loot tables option, bringing his mana down even more, but regenerating lost loot and dungeon dwellers…

Available Mana: 1,942 MP.

‘Those grubby little creatures...’ he thought, anger bubbling up again at the memory of adventurers managing to sneak away with his mana crystals.

It wasn’t much longer until his thoughts shifted to more practical matters.

“Hmm…” he muttered, tapping the edge of the tablet with one finger. “Okay… one great harvest should be enough to form the third floor.”

He nodded to himself, his confidence bolstered by the improvements he’d made to the second floor. With the skeletons now strengthened and the first floor still efficiently draining the weak adventurers, his dungeon was starting to resemble something closer to Sorvax’s masterpiece.

‘It’s all about momentum,’ he thought, his lips twitching into a smirk.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of urgency. Two floors were a decent defense, but they weren’t nearly enough to protect him indefinitely. The stronger the dungeon grew, the more powerful the humans it would attract.

Riven scowled at the thought. He knew from Sorvax’s dungeon that it wasn’t until around the 80th floor that even the toughest adventurers could be truly tested.

‘Eighty floors,’ he mused, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Sorvax was insane.’

For now, Riven had to accept his current predicament. Two floors were manageable, but they were still far too close to the entrance. A single powerful human—a determined one with the right gear and skill—could easily clear both floors and reach him.

He shivered at the thought, instinctively glancing toward the entrance portal.

No. He couldn’t afford to think that way. He wasn’t weak, and his dungeon wasn’t going to crumble under the weight of one intruder.

He sat up straighter, holding the tablet before him with the confidence only a demon overlord—or at least an aspiring one—could muster.

“Time to see what my little dungeon can do,” he muttered with a smirk, his finger hovering over the glowing button.

[Start New Day]

The moment he pressed it, the dungeon hummed with life.

The tablet glowed faintly as red dots began to appear on the map, one after another. The adventurers had arrived, each dot representing a hapless victim eager to test their luck—or meet their demise—within his labyrinthine halls.

Riven leaned back, his grin growing wider as he watched the red dots spread out across the first floor, scurrying like ants.

“Let’s see how far you make it this time,” he said, his voice laced with anticipation.

Still, the thought lingered in his mind: this was only the beginning. If he wanted to survive the inevitable onslaught of stronger humans, he’d need to build more floors. He needed distance, complexity, and defenses that would leave even the most skilled adventurers trembling.

The third floor would be crucial.

With pests—

‘Humans,’ Riven corrected himself, his lip curling at the thought.

Roaming his halls again, he sat back in his throne, watching the glowing map on the dungeon management tablet. Red dots scurried through the first floor, some meandering aimlessly while others moved with purpose, undoubtedly heading toward what they thought was treasure.

For once, he wasn’t worried. Not really. The upgrades to the second floor, particularly the skeletons bolstered by his potion, were enough to deter adventurers of the same rank as those that had embarrassed him before.

It wasn’t likely that they’d make it to his floor again, not unless they had some serious luck or newfound strength.

‘But luck doesn’t last forever,’ he thought smugly.

Still, with his immediate safety all but guaranteed, Riven’s thoughts naturally wandered to the future—to the third floor.

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The third floor would be critical. It wouldn’t just be another line of defense—it would represent the first significant evolution of his dungeon. Each additional floor would make his dungeon more imposing, more intimidating, and, most importantly, more efficient at harvesting mana.

And as a good dungeon master, Riven had ideas.

‘Lots of them,’ he thought, tapping his finger rhythmically against the edge of the tablet.

He could make the third floor a continuation of the first two—a standard combat floor filled with stronger creatures. Skeletons were reliable, cheap to maintain, and easy to replace, and with a bit of mana, he could upgrade them even further.

A third combat floor would cost more mana to upkeep, yes, but it would provide another critical layer of protection to his personal quarters. The more distance he could put between himself and the dungeon entrance, the better.

But…

There were other ways to defend yourself against intruders. Particularly the ones who didn’t care about their own self-preservation—those adventurers who would throw themselves recklessly into danger for the promise of loot or glory.

Riven leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

‘You don’t always need to rely on monsters to stop them,’ he thought.

You could use traps.

Or puzzles.

Humans, after all, were not the brightest species.

Traps were a classic choice. Sorvax’s dungeon had dozens of them scattered across the lower and mid-level floors—everything from simple pitfalls to elaborate pressure-plate-triggered mechanisms that would unleash barrages of arrows or even collapsing walls.

Riven imagined it now: a narrow hallway filled with swinging axes, hidden pressure plates, and dart-shooting contraptions. The humans would scramble like rats, their tiny minds too slow to anticipate the dangers, and their bodies too fragile to withstand the onslaught.

‘Efficient. Elegant. And oh so satisfying,’ he mused.

But then there was the puzzle option…

Riven rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his fingers lightly scraping against his skin. Puzzles were a different kind of challenge altogether. They didn’t rely on brute force but rather tested the adventurers’ intelligence—or lack thereof.

And considering what he’d seen of humans so far, he wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence in their mental prowess.

A well-crafted puzzle could slow down even the most determined intruders, forcing them to stop and think—or more likely, make mistake after mistake until they either gave up or accidentally triggered some sort of hidden consequence.

‘And the beauty of a puzzle floor,’ he thought, his grin widening, ‘is that it doesn’t have to kill them to be effective. It only has to waste their time.’

Time was the most valuable resource in a dungeon. The longer adventurers spent wandering aimlessly, struggling against traps, or banging their heads against puzzles, the more mana the dungeon could siphon from them. And if they were too slow?

Well, there was always the option to introduce a little danger.

“Hmm…” Riven muttered aloud, leaning back in his throne as he considered his options. “A third combat floor would be simple, efficient. But… a puzzle floor could be interesting.”

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. A puzzle floor didn’t have to be complicated—just clever enough to frustrate the adventurers and separate the clever ones from the idiots.

‘And if they’re too dumb to solve it,’ he thought with a chuckle, ‘then they don’t deserve to make it to the higher floors.’

It would also break up the monotony of combat. If humans knew they were walking into floor after floor of the same type of challenge, they might eventually stop coming, bored of the repetition. Variety would keep them coming back for more, lured in by the promise of something new.

But there was still much to plan. What kind of puzzle would it be? Something simple, like a pattern-matching challenge? Or something more elaborate, like a maze filled with shifting walls and false exits?

And if they failed… what punishment would be waiting for them?

Riven’s grin turned darker, the possibilities swirling in his mind.

That’s when it hit him.

Riven froze mid-thought, his eyes lighting up as the perfect plan bloomed in his mind.

“This… this is it!” he exclaimed, gripping the tablet tighter.

He immediately scrolled through the available floor types on the dungeon management menu, his finger flicking past the combat floors until it landed on exactly what he was looking for.

A puzzle floor.

Not just any puzzle floor—this one was perfect. It was almost as if the menu itself had known what he wanted, laying the option before him like an offering.

The floor type he selected was officially called a Decision Room in the dungeon management world, though Riven preferred to think of it as “The Fool’s Test.”

Three platforms. Three choices. Three potential fates.

Riven’s grin widened as his imagination began to run wild. The room would be simple yet devious: three large platforms, each suspended over a dark, ominous pit—because what’s a puzzle room without the threat of falling to your doom?

Each platform would lead to the same exit, but the adventurers wouldn’t know that. No, the real puzzle was the hidden consequences tied to each platform:

One platform would drain their mana, funneling it directly into the dungeon’s reserves.

One platform would drain their health.

‘And… maybe give them diabetes or something,’ Riven thought with a snicker.

And the last platform? Completely normal. A perfectly safe, boring, harmless platform designed solely to confuse them.

“It’s beautiful,” Riven muttered, practically giddy at the thought.

The brilliance of the design wasn’t just in its simplicity, but in its psychological effect. Three platforms, one of which is safe—what human could resist the temptation to “outsmart” the room? They’d overthink it, debate it, argue amongst themselves, all while the timer ticked away, wasting precious time.

And time, as every good dungeon master knows, is mana.

‘But that’s not all,’ Riven thought, his grin turning sharp.

It wasn’t just about wasting their time. The consequences would carry forward.

A weakened adventurer, drained of mana or health, would be far less prepared for the next floor. The second floor’s skeletons would pick them off with ease, or the adventurers would burn through their remaining potions and resources just to survive. Either way, the dungeon would reap the benefits.

And the best part?

They’d think they were in control.

Riven practically cackled as the idea solidified in his mind. He could already picture it: the humans standing before the three platforms, their tiny brains working overtime to figure out which one was the “right” choice.

The panic as one of them stepped forward, only to feel their mana or health slipping away. The smugness of the ones who stepped on the normal platform, thinking they’d outsmarted the room—only to walk straight into the jaws of whatever horrors awaited them on the next floor.

‘Oh, this is going to be glorious,’ Riven thought.

But the pièce de résistance, the cherry on top of his brilliant design, was the one-way nature of the room.

Once they stepped onto a platform, there would be no going back.

‘A way forward? Sure. A way back? Hmm...’

Riven hesitated for a moment, his grin faltering as practicality intruded on his scheming. If he made the room completely one-way, it might discourage weaker adventurers from even attempting the dungeon. He needed them to think they had a choice, even if they really didn’t.

‘Fine,’ he thought begrudgingly. ‘There will be a way back. An easy one. For now.’

But as his eyes narrowed and his fingers tapped against the tablet, another thought crept in.

‘One day, though… no way back. Only forward.’

Riven allowed himself a moment to bask in the perfection of his plan. The Decision Room wasn’t just a puzzle—it was a statement. A test of wit, nerve, and greed. It would lull the adventurers into a false sense of security, make them think they were smarter than they were, and ultimately punish them for their arrogance.

And the best part?

It was efficient.

No complicated traps to reset, no monsters to respawn, just pure psychological torment. The adventurers would weaken themselves, waste their own time, and hand over their mana willingly.

“Perfect,” Riven said aloud, his voice filled with satisfaction.

With a flick of his finger, he selected the Decision Room from the menu and began configuring the details.

The platforms. The pit. The subtle, ominous glow that would emanate from the edges of the platforms, just enough to make the humans second-guess every step they took.

And when the setup was complete, Riven leaned back, his grin wide and his heart pounding with anticipation.

“This is going to be fun,” he said, his voice dripping with malice.

[MP Required: 3,700]

[Upkeep Additional: 100]