(Curator POV)

Well, that’s settled...

I swear their union is more trouble than it’s worth. Not really.

Ever since I recognized them as a group. The boggarts have taken to minor administrative roles using their shape-shifting abilities. Things like mediating and training, they’re basically jack-of-all-trades, the perfect diplomats and training dummies rolled into one.

Any case, I negotiated for them and the black dogs to work as mobs on the third-floor, living furniture, shadow beasties, and whatnot. For essence molds and reshapes, but as far as I know, it can’t give life. So, I’ll have to make due.

All they asked in return is for a mud and dark room respectively be implemented. That and a one-week training period, which I instated right away. Lastly, employee benefits for having to work on a lower floor with higher requisites and expected performance.

I tried reasoning that it didn’t have to increase in difficulty, but they weren’t having any of it. ‘The core must be protected’, and ‘mediocre standards lead to mediocre results.’ Pffftt. Where did they even learn those words?

Hahh. Still, they were all valid points. So I caved before they decided the floor could be even tougher. Also, I think the head boggart was giving me the stink eye for not making a marsh on the second floor yet.

Training, I wonder. In a dungeon fight, the usual tactics and scenarios won’t work. Chiefly, Big Bad’s boss fight. No way a core would fall for a bait and switch. And an army in that small room... How far can Big Bad’s flesh mimicry go? Is it limited to just human forms? And incorporating the basement. An idea brewing, I send Big Bad to experiment something out with the others.

So that’s manpower settled. Next is Grandma.

“Or should I say the WITCH OF THE CASTLE!” She does not look amused.

Somewhat founded, I admit. She’s been living in the basement of uhm, Grandma’s house, and before that the backyard. She couldn’t be inside, what if someone accidentally stumbled in. At least that was the justification.

“Oi, you- you have some nerve! Coming here after leaving this poor old lady out to dry.” I just got flipped off by an old lady, and I don’t know how to feel.

“Please. Grandma, a lot was going on, and Big Bad is the bo-”

“Ya, ya, he’s the boss. I’ll do it. If anything it’s a promotion.” Well, that was simple enough. The role of witch definitely came with the benefits of more showtime and residency in the castle.

Though, where did she pick up that accent? It had to be from the adventurers. She must’ve been sneaking out to the first floor, but without me realizing?

Blame the fairies, yep.

Wrapping her in the cocoon of evolution, I kept Grandma mostly the same since she still has to come up here for Red’s storyline. Focusing on internal things like amping up DP storage and usage. On the third floor, she’ll be a powerful spell weaver, but on the second floor, she’ll revert back to a harmless old lady.

Going off the sparrow theory, I previously hypothesized. It should work like that, DP density, type, and wot not.

Oh, yeah, and before someone calls me a hypocrite, I also gave Huntsman an upgrade. To what? Just basic stronger, faster on the third-floor things.

Gotta say. You can burn through essence real fast if you’re not paying attention. I even had to cut a few corners with the previous two.

Moving on, pockets a lot lighter. Rooms in the castle still need to be sculpted, proportioned, and dungeon-fied in... “Alice?”

“Five.”

Five days!? Ah, crap, gotta speed run this.

First off, MAIN HALL! I’m thinking of a classic grand staircase centerpiece. Splits halfway up, allowing for a balcony that wraps around the whole hall, nine rooms in total, six on the bottom, three on top.

We don’t have much time, so only the bare necessities. Parlor room/rest stop on the ground floor.

The middle right door, underneath the staircase, has to lead to the dungeon/darkroom. Side balcony doors for the different wings.

And the center balcony door? Now that’s for the big finale. Large, imposing, not dissimilar to the one guarding my core room, except way more ornate, for now it’ll require one key to unlock. Which I plan on giving to a notable individual.

Grandma's room can go in the west-wing along with a brewery-. And for the east-wing, a mudroom, can’t forget that-. With the princess’s room residing in. The. East. Wings. Tower...

I don’t have a princess. Red? Definitely not... “Hey! Huntsman, what’s up!” He’s cool with it, I’m sure.

Just a few adjustments here and there, squeeze him into a... Nevermind, maybe stick to neutral clothing. The rooms already dim, and if people don’t think about it too hard. It- it’ll work out. I’M SURE IT’LL WORK OUT.

Moving on, how could I not make a rose room. Situated in the west wing’s highest tower, a simple room housing a pedestal with a solitary rose covered by a glass dome. The window angled just right to bathe it in moonlight.

Now let’s see ground floor rooms, second floor, wings-

Giving the place a once over, I caught a wisp of something floating around the corner. Did the fairies sneak in?

*Clang* *Clang* Fighting?

Rounding the corner to the clashing of weapons. Ghosts... Specters... Poltergeists. Echos of the past were fighting in my hallway like cornered animals.

Stuck in a moment of bloodshed, fatal blows, tangible objects; hell, even the flow of time meant nothing to these soldiers.

Curious, I poked around for a while and managed to pinpoint where these guys were flooding in from.

Oh god, they’re coming from the walls. Tch, I knew it was a bad idea firing the blood mud into bricks. But what else was I supposed to use. In hindsight, the copious amounts of blood should’ve tipped me off. Egg on me, I guess.

Not the aesthetic I was going for, but one I welcome. And they don’t seem to interact with or care about anything outside of their fighting.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Yep, deal with this later.

Rooms! Furnishing, challenges, story. Mudroom, home of the boggarts. Have prospecting heroes wade through the muck. No! Jump from platform to platform as the boggarts try to drag them under. Should make a decent challenge for those armored fatties running around. Seriously they steamroll through most normal encounters.

As for a reward, the key to the Brewery and if they play their cards right well, we’ll leave that for a surprise.

Brewery. It would be a nice change of pace to have a test of wit rather than strength. So what can you do in a brewery? Ya, brew stuff.

Walls lined to the ceiling in exotic ingredients. Eye of bogey beast, toenail of boggart, stomach of wolf, lung of Guardian basically parts from my existing pool of monsters. As for the combinations, I can worry about that later.

Going about the same process, I put tiny gauntlets into the various rooms. Well, as much as possible, considering the time crunch and my already stretched DP pool. And there’s still the matter of furnishing.

...

..

-----------------------

[Ding, ding, ding! Times up!]

I’m forcefully seated facing Head. The void seemed prearranged for our meeting. The table shrunk for two while the other three cores bummed inside an observation booth. Either wishing us luck or chanting blood, I’m not the greatest at lip-reading.

Sitting on the table, legs dangling to the wayside. Whit began the pre-game amble.

[Welcome one and all gentle cores of all ages. To a War of epic proportions!]

[In the red corner, we have Head, science nerd, and head honcho of Dungeon Labs inc.]

[And in the blue corner give a warm round of applause for Curator, the mythical, mystical, story weaver.]

“Excuse me, can I have a moment?” Hopefully, I can buy some time for the others back home to prepare.

“I second that.” Head chipped in, probably more for their sake than mine.

[Alright...]

Visibly deflated, he faded away giving us some quiet.

“Well, best of luck to ya!” Might as well interject some good spirit. Don’t want them throwing a hissy fit that may or may not be justifiable.

“Same.” They take a brief pause to check in on the three stooges running rampant in their little box. Before continuing with a tinge of annoyance in their voice, contrary to their mischievous smirk. “How about we make another deal.”

Oooo, backroom deals, those always end well. “If I win, you ignore Whit’s calls to the Null. He can be persistent, but if you refuse, he won’t make you.”

... “What?” So he really wants rid of me that badly? “And what are you putting up in return?”

“This.” He discretely flashes me various strange devices, all of which were viewed through a small screen.

“Custom made Victorian style machinery, in all its unnecessarily messy gloriousness. Complements any gothic sci-fi aesthetic, complete with lightning attracting features and other functional bobbles to fill a scene. They all work scientifically, no magic involved. At least to the trained eye it isn’t.

I doubt you’ll ever be able to create something like this. And if you doubt my offer, I swear this on my pride as a man of science, I always deliver.”

“Hmph, I just don’t have to be in the Null, correct?” He nods in confirmation. I can still get updates from Whit if it comes to that. “I accept.”

I’d be lying if I pretended to be completely okay with these conditions. But he is correct, I’d never be able to create complex machinery and have them work without using magic. It would clash with the setting I envisioned for Frankenstein... It’s worth the risk.

As a gesture of goodwill(?) he extends his hand to seal the deal. Taking him up, I felt him tremble up an earthquake at my touch, truthfully it could’ve been compounded by my own as well. Fighting off the itch, we managed to end it amicably.

“To save us from Whit’s dramatics, I might as well give you the rundown. For this match, the win condition is to reach the end of your opponent’s third-floor. I’ll be restricted in certain aspects to make the fight as fair as possible.” They motion towards the observation booth.

This is far more regulated than I thought. But will he be okay? Whit’s practically drilling stares into him for taking up their screen time.

[You guys done?]

“Yeah, they can intune the rest.”

As Whit did the count-down, I try to settle myself. Anything can happen, open eyes.

(Zhenya POV)

““CHEERS””

It was dusk and, Fredrica, who lost our game of cards, returned with refreshments.

With work done for the day, we immediately jumped into gossip. Starting with Nickolas's bit.

“You guys hear what happened earlier this morning?” Head shakes all around. We’ve pretty much been working and sleeping here in our little off the path alleyway hub.

“There was a jailbreak. Not an ordinary one either. It was an unofficial prison meant to hold Bargas. The perps practically broke in with brute strength alone.” He takes a breath, putting everyone on edge.

“Now the whole town’s in an uproar with the A.A putting up insane bounties on Bargas. Meanwhile, his supporters are using this to claim that Lyra used underhanded tricks to secure her position.

That’s not even the worse of it, I heard that the Dutchy is getting involved in this as well.”

Antonia pitched in soon after. “The Revolution.” This caught our attention. “I’ve heard their name during my visits to the capital. A disenfranchised group claiming the Dutchy’s current impoverished state is a fault of the Council. Normally this would be dismissed as another fringe group trying to usurp power.

But they’ve proven highly organized, skilled and knowledgeable that it could only be seen as the work of high-ranking military members.” At this point, Fredrica was the most agitated of the already rattled group of would-be knights.

“I heard that after the war, many people outright vanished from the service registry during the bureaucratic shuffle.” One of Antonia's group recounted.

....

...

.

*Clap*

Being the one to bring the subject up, it only fits that Antonia was the one to bring it to a close. “Remember, the Council is composed of the greatest minds in the Dutchy. We have weathered much worse than a band of rebels.”

“Right!” I piped up in an effort to save this after-party. “Freddie! You’ve been pretty adamant about cramming a forge in here, what’s that about?”

Still a little perturbed, this at least got her to think about other things. “Where do you think I get all my shields from?”

“I always thought you bought a new one.” What shield is she on now? Four, I think?

“Would’ve gone broke by now if I did. I just swing by the public forges to make a new one, way cheaper.” She puffs her chest out in pride. “But it’s just, you know... The forges they have are so basic. Worse they have no soul! All carbon copies, made of low-quality crap! The flames they produce might as well be lasher’s piss! And the leather stoc-”

“Woah, woah, hold on there, I didn’t know you were so passionate about forges.” I know she’s protective of her armor and would go on about how it was made at the drop of a hat, but damn.

“It’s no surprise considering the Ainsley family are renowned armor-smiths.” Antonia added in a bid to bury our previous topic.

“Toni!” Fredrica called out indignantly.

“Comrades shouldn’t keep secrets. At this point there’s nothing to lose from her knowing.” But Antonia countered to keep the conversation from regressing.

Fredrica sputtered. It was true, but at the same time, she wanted to stick to her self-imposed rules.

“Fredrica is as proficient with a hammer as she is with the sword. All Ainsley are.” Antonia eased up, keeping on-topic, carefully choosing what to reveal.

Apparently, Fredrica’s family started as blacksmiths back in the day, gaining prestige through innovative techniques. I tried poking for more info, but all that earned me was a lecture on proper smithing techniques.

From there, the conversation flowed into lighthearted banter and funny stories. The cheery atmosphere was back, but a twinge in my gut told me that this Revolution was only collectively pushed to the back of everyone's mind.