(Curator Pov)
“Retreat! Run! Godammit. Kid, get your ass in gear!”
“What the hell! They’re made of paper!”
“Paper?! The fuck happened?”
Odd occurrences had cast a shadow of paranoia over the last few days, leaving many local miners on edge. Giving rise to rumors that their reckless excavation had unearthed a host of the moon goddess’s misbegotten experiments.
Others called those people idiots. But even they, under hushed arguments, knew their lackadaisical days were nearing an end.
Despite the veil of unease draping their backs, these stalwart miners returned everyday at dawn. They knew it was folly, but the promise of riches sang to them, ingraining warm delights into their minds. This ‘curse’ began as a boon, a gift from the goddess some even praised.
Mineral veins suddenly flourished in gross excess. Fire crystals sequestered within the mine’s dangerous depths were coaxed into safer marks. It was unnatural, any person with a brain could tell that, but the allure was great. Their families had full stomachs every day with enough Gp left afterward to consider saving. Time spent pondering what these odd offerings signified, meant time not taking a pick to literal gold.
But slowly, this blessing degraded into the curse of today. Critters oft regarded as harmless were mutated into monsters. Capable of inflicting burns or flesh rending bites, frequently on whichever idiot decided to try their hand at monster slaying.
Greed is a fascinating motivator. Let a starving man smell steak and tell him there’s a cow down the road. He’ll have it killed and cooked within the hour. Even amidst increasing hostilities, the miners chose not to contact local authorities or the A.A. All for the notion that they would be able to keep this wealth for themselves.
Time passed, the sun and moon chased each other, and the changes only grew worryingly drastic. Even the dullest among them now questioned if this somehow turned into a core-controlled dungeon. The type dungeon towns get built around.
Of course, that was the one thing none of them wanted to acknowledge. But as days came and went, the resistance they faced became more palpable. They were forced to admit that things might be getting out of hand.
Still not enough to inform higher authorities. Leading to one serendipitous day, finding them geared to the neck with whatever tools and protection they could scrounge together. Outrageously so, if any proper adventurer was around to comment on the in-over-their-heads miners.
They were not warriors. The only things they knew about dungeon diving came from fanciful tales regaled by passing merchants.
John, the eldest of this motley band, led the charge. Despite lacking combat prowess, the group knew these tunnels like no other.
If these were the same well-walked shafts they knew, that is.
Twist after turn, swirl after spiral. Nothing in these mines made sense to the human mind.
Distorted beyond recognition, making the simple act of traversing a nightmare.
Which was well within the miner’s skill set. Setting up anchors, the group started the mind-boggling horizontal climb before them, a nerve or two frayed.
Halfway through the third shaft, John’s eyes locked onto a spark ambling through the dark depths. His breath quickened, bringing a hand up, halting the rest behind him.
Tools in quivering hands fear now contended with greed, creating a volatile cocktail of courage. Closer and closer, the red glow crept, sauntering into view.
A hefty newt, the size of a dog, clad in muddy red scales. Its soft white underbelly rippled with tattered flaking embers.
Benign as far as dungeon creatures go, most adventurers would scoff at the sight of its toddling steps.
But to men who have never seen a monster, let alone a dungeon monster. This salamander might as well be an apex predator.
John was the first to move. Pick held high, his muscles bulged. In one practiced motion tool pierced scale, shattering it into brittle shards.
Embolden, the rest of the crew crept closer. Ready to get their own punches in. Metal tools descended upon the fiery beast, cracking its precious scales that any adventurer worth their salt would find wasteful. But short-lived as it came, while some blows rang true, others glanced off, creating sparks.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Screams erupted in tandem with the salamander’s scales bursting into flames.
Invigorated, the beast enacted its revenge. Looping us back to the beginning of this tale. Miners screaming like little girls as my creatures came out of the stonework in droves.
Alongside the salamanders were hinezumi, or fire rats, dropping from the ceiling. Cute little chubby creatures that, if put under duress, blew themselves up in a ball of flame.
A small but infuriating combination where the roly-poly mice would blow up, igniting salamanders to deal with would-be intruders.
Not fatal by any sense of the word, but for a couple of schmucks? It did the job. Sending the group packing.
With any luck, that’ll beat some sense into them. Greed or no, after that display, I would consider them lost causes if they still didn’t report this place to at least the A.A.
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Now that matter’s settled. Let’s get a peek past those walls.
Pulling back into my coreless center of operations. The whole place, thanks to Whit, acclimated itself to me swiftly.
My actual control over the place is shoddy at best. Surprisingly, paper and fire mana don’t mix all too well. At best, I used the critter’s natural affinity towards fire mana to induce a chance mutation rather than outright evolve them. It was on the low end of what happened to my ember wolves. Making any in-depth change was out of my control.
Even now, all the information about items within the mine was slowly feeding into my mind. From mine cart tracks to a sandwich John left behind. Mixing with the core of my being to create new possibilities. Like, *Ding*. Yep, new story unlocked.
Cold grey stone eventually gave way to steaming crystalline rubies. Encrusting the room, each huff of warmth almost seems to pulsate, a heartbeat of steam. Suitable for my core(less) room, the mine’s hub, a clear area of space the miners used as a lounge and switch yard.
Steam billowed, ebbed, and escaped into the sky from a large crevasse in the ceiling. I haven’t quite figured out the subtleties of my situation, but obscured by waves of steam was a fist-sized ruby. My connection to this place. And similar to my core... Soul? Either or, it was valuable to humans, I knew that straight away. Not as much as the former. But a baby like this could fuel an industrial-sized foundry for a month, maybe more.
Not only that, it had value for individuals as well. Fire enhancements on weapons, and by the gods, this was every magical pyromaniac's wet dream.
Besides the value comparison, it functioned the same as any core. Purifies mana and adds it to my Dp pool, excluding the whole killing me thing if someone gets their grubby mitts on it. Makes sense. It is only a proxy, after all. But this was where the Whit-isms rear their heads.
By Whit’s design, I’d bet, if an adventurer did make it all the way to the end and swipe the gem. I’ll lose out on any Dp generated by this location until it regenerates.
Like all things Whit had a hand in, it was game-like in its design, balancing rewards and demerits for both parties. All in his usual style of growth through struggle.
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It’s been easy sailing since the miners ran off, to say the least. Word has finally spread about a ‘tamed coreless dungeon’ suddenly overflowing with monsters and riches. Apparently, most people who came to check out this phenomenon have renamed this place the Crucible.
But that’s not the reason I’m interested. The A.A has finally responded, sending a band of adventurers to investigate.
They seem to be old hands at this too. With practiced ease, the group went about building camp a few paces away from my mine’s entrance. Another telling aspect was how the group had their tools all prepped, ready to go at a moment’s notice.
I believe G warned me about this, Cleaners. The cream of the crop, the guys sent when the higher-ups want a dungeon explored and cleared. They are usually contracted to scout out freshly surfaced dungeons and asset their threat level.
Took the group two days of prep and surveying the surrounding area before they were content to make any move on the dungeon itself.
Within that time, they found the rift but seeing steam and the fact that it led right into the dungeon’s heart dissuaded any funny actions.
For such a supposedly highly regarded group, they were surprisingly normal... Compared to the golden girls. But then again, theirs is a colorful bunch, to put things lightly.
The cleaners consisted of five adventurers. Four men and one woman. A simple three vanguard two back-liner formation, a tried and tested composition.
Two walking mountains of beast-folk. A bear and horse, if their ears and tails were any indication. Definitely the front-line fighters.
Next were the two humans shoring up the back line. One seems to be some sort of rouge, light on their feet, she stuck in the shadow cast by the beast-folk pair, ready to warn them of traps. The other was an alchemist of the same vein as Rudi and Junia.
The last... person was the most interesting, a child of Smith. Their body was tightly bound in leather armor, leaving no skin exposed. Draped in a hooded robe, it left their face shrouded in darkness.
The most noticeable aspect about the edge lord was the intricate khopesh at his side. Studded with enough jewels that it would make a dragon jealous.
And that make! I’m no expert, but even I could tell the metallurgy, the technique, the care put into it is far beyond anything I’ve seen thus far.
And it’s tearing my dungeon a new one...
These guys were called cleaners for a reason, and it’s not like I had any delusions of grandeur. I was fully aware they would make it to the end, just for them to rip everything to pieces... I cringe a bit seeing a salamander get diced to pieces by the horse folk’s spear.
Continuing at their pace, it didn’t even take the group long to arrive at the heart. Their assessment has been fairly lukewarm. One even made a joke about how easy this was.
Before they even dared to approach the crystal lump, the group’s attention immediately snapped to their dungeon-borne companion. No, doubt apprehensive about even being near a dungeon’s core. They were veterans and have made it to and seen plenty of the like. But the lingering fear that one wrong move may mean them stuck in the middle of a Flowering night-esque event struck a cord.
They heard the tales, and only the insane would ever be glad to deal with that shit show.
But Smith’s child urged them on wordlessly. No, doubt he had been in some form of contact with her, knowing of our arrangement.
Eventually, the group gathered their nerves and took the faux core, standing there just in case they started the apocalypse 2 electric boogaloo. But nothing came to be.
And with their objective more or less fully documented, the group left. Although, Smith’s child lagged behind, leaving me an offering before catching up with the others.