Uno

It took two more soldiers disappearing after getting their heads bashed in and passing another week before the outpost’s higher-ups noticed that something was wrong. An investigation was immediately launched and soon the next trooper in the line was caught red-handed - diving into the dungeon by his lonesome. Under a barrage of questions and by using some less savory methods he quickly broke, agreeing to lead the outpost leadership towards his objective.

I watched as a large number of guards, red-haired Charles, Master Vincent, crazy Guild Master Lois, and suspicious Captain Duree descended the temporary stairs - smack dab in the middle of Conservatory. I suppose that it was a better idea to enter through here than to risk wandering into the remains of Twisted Tunnels, where the Decapitator roamed with ever-increasing passion.

Six of the guards were chosen to lead this expedition, their faces growing worried when hearing about the task. Their slow and deliberate movements brought a smile to my face.

While the Conservatory was mostly a “safe” room it had its quirks. Besides large silvery Ironbarks with a bit too sharp leaves, I also seeded some husky, but otherwise unassuming Battery Devourers. The sentients still didn’t know their true value, but I worried, considering the shallow level they were growing on. It seemed like my past judgment was not the best.

Besides them, a few Ax Conifers grew in the corners, while knife-bushes and Bone Ferns cluttered the free space under the trees. The Copper Grass screeched under the heavy boots of the soldiers, every step they took raising a cacophony. After a minute I heard the curses and a hissing sound of the Fiery Dandelion exploding with acid.

“What are you, a child?!” Shouted Captain Duree angrily, berating the still cursing trooper. “Now is the time when you set off a Boomer?” He asked, calling my creation by the sentients' crude name.

“S-sorry, Captain.” Grunted the unlucky victim, while hastily taking off his boots and cleaning the scalded foot with water from his leather canteen.

“I don’t care anymore…” Duree sighed. “You!” He pointed at the nearby soldier.

“Yes, sir!” The man saluted immediately.

“Help this dunce with bandaging and rinsing his wounds. After that escort him back to the surface.” The chosen warrior nodded, but I spotted unwillingness in his gaze.

“Can we move on?” Charles asked lazily while yawning. He was wearing a red overcoat with a blue flame on his back, describing the noble house he was a part of. His gaze slowly wandered through the surroundings.

“Yes. There is no problem, sir. I suppose nobody else would be stupid enough to get incapacitated by the simple plants.” He raised his voice. “We may be on the first level of this dungeon, people, but should I remind you that all of the creatures and dangers here were cataloged by our mages? Not to mention the fucking maps you have?!” He ended with a near-scream and many of his soldiers embarrassingly lowered their heads.

It was only now that I noticed that pretty much every single one of them had a sheet of leather tied to their waist. Most were glancing at them from time to time. The “map” in question was decorated with a few strange symbols and contained a simple, but accurate enough representation of my first floor. With the broken parts included.

There was a flower, with a small ladder, sketched in, which should be a sign for a conservatory, an anvil for the smithy, a small statue representing the sparring, or food hall, and a skull with crossed bones which was obviously a way to designate where my Floor Guardian was.

The human ranks reformed, and their vanguard determined to stop wasting time. The large procession slowly followed behind them, wary and prepared. The invaders easily jumped over the spear traps and followed their bound captive into the Food Hall.

Once they arrived a few Lebirs armed with clubs and Crackling Maces descended from the pedestals in hopes of ambushing the humans. By now nobody was surprised by this action anymore - the trick with undead pretending to be statues was already discovered by the constantly arriving sentients.

If I was still in the control adding some real statues and maybe a trap or two would be in order. Just to keep the invaders on their toes.

Sadly it was not meant to be.

As the eight Lebirs charged the enemy, Jailer Jonathan hurled his armored body through the Kitchen door. I guessed that he already finished gorging on the stone-like food and discovered a dessert - a whole group of Geinard Kingdom soldiers.

With a joyous roar, he grabbed the stone wall and propelled himself forward, with a grace of a flying boulder. A second later he landed and the earth shook as he ran forward, his sudden appearance a shock to the advancing enemies.

I didn’t have any hopes for my first floor, so this change lifted my spirits a bit.

Or so it was until I saw Guild Master Lois running to meet my creation, while the rest of the humans clashed with the incoming undead.

The bandana-wearing rogue took initiative, his charge turning into a slide. He easily glided between the giant’s legs, while Jonathan clumsily tried to grab his agile opponent. Lois disappeared from his sight and for a long moment, the cursed Jailer was only confusingly staring at his empty hands. The undead soon changed gears, forgetting about the quick warrior and instead focusing on the meal laid before him - other human soldiers battling the Lebirs in one large group. Many of them were standing in the back, the Food Hall simply not large enough to give them space to fight. Jonathan roared, only to have his shout of hunger turned into anger when an unbelievably sharp butcher knife nearly separated one of his arms from the body.

The screech of metal grinding against the metal was overwhelming. I watched as the blade cut the iron, then skin, muscle, and wires before reluctantly stopping. Normally such an attack would leave the opponent incapacitated, curling up in pain.

Jonathan, however, was an undead. His only reaction to the left arm hanging only on a strip of armor and muscle was another roar and then - a furious attack.

He turned rapidly, his remaining hand slapping the attacker in the chest and sending him flying. The force of the blow caved in the human’s armor and sent him flying a few meters back. With a loud crash, Lois hit the nearby wall and tumbled down only to immediately stand up - his smile now more similar to a vicious sneer, the bloodied teeth bared in an expression of joy.

“Lois!”

“Help him, now!”

“Together we’ll slay the monster!”

“Guild Master!”

A few voices sailed through the air, but the battle-crazy human only shook his head.

“Do not intervene!” He snarled. “I haven’t had a decent fight… IN AGES!”

With a scream of defiance, he charged towards my monster, another blade - long and serrated - suddenly appearing in his free hand. With a flourish, he dodged a wide swing of the Jailer and then vaulted over the undead’s back.

He slowed his descent with both blades, cutting two bloody lines on the monster’s back. The iron armor that Jailer Jonathan wore seemed to be completely useless under the assault of, what I assumed, were magical weapons.

Black, thick blood slowly dripped down from the damaged flesh, my creation more angry than hurt - if not counting the lack of one arm.

“Yes, that’s how it should be done!” Screamed Lois and I noticed that the rest of my Lebirs had already been beaten to the ground. “No surrender!” He giggled, eyes glazed over with joy.

“Can you hurry up, Guild Master?” Charles shouted with irritation.

“Give me just a moment, sir!” The bloodied maniac laughed and pounced back into action.

The rest of the expedition was completely unfazed. Captain Duree was refining his look, checking if the dark blue armor he wore acquired any blemishes. Unlike the common soldiers, he wasn’t using a normal iron with a tabard worn over it, but rather a specially dyed and carved piece. The grey shield sculpted in its front was especially pronounced.

Master Vincent was studying the Bone Lichen growing on the walls, poking the pale growths full of water with his finger, while murmuring to himself. His violet robe and strange helmet were still unique among the sentients. I paid special attention to his movements since his core should be especially desirable. You never knew when an occasion could present itself.

But then again - even not-so-powerful mages were my targets too.

The fight between Jailer Jonathan and Guild Master Lois ended a few minutes later. I hesitated to call it like that since it quickly became clear that the bloodied human was just playing with my creation.

Despicable.

Only I was allowed to kill and maim my enemies slowly and deliberately. And I would do so even more if this sportsman decided to grace my lower floors with his presence.

As his deed was done the Guild Master cleaned up with a piece of fabric, only to lick his lips in ecstasy, tasting both his blood and that of his enemy.

Some of the surrounding soldiers trembled with repulsion while turning their heads away.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Lois promptly ignored them.

A minute later the expedition arrived at the Sparring Room, my two Lebir Spar-masters were staring at the sentients with malice, their bodies unmoving - bound by the trial.

As the soldiers moved forward most of the people present inhaled sharply. They crossed an arbitrary line, and - according to their expressions - were surprised by a notification box, similar to the ones I was encountering. It was already a tried and tired reaction chain - an expression of shock, then interest, and in the end - pure greed.

After a few seconds (faster or slower, depending on their reading speed) the eyes of the sentients sharpened, their throats suddenly dry and nostrils flaring. Most of the soldiers controlled their emotions immediately, it didn’t, however, stop me from noticing quick glances thrown towards the higher-ups.

Too bad nothing more interesting happened.

Master Vincent was the first one to speak, stroking his ragged beard.

“A trial. And on the first floor too.” He nodded to himself. “It seems like the dungeon started working on its third level.”

I was surprised by his speech… was this ability of mine so common that the sentients understood it already?

“Are you sure, Master Vincent?” Charles asked warily, still reading and re-reading the invisible box.

“It should be. If I remember correctly most accounts claim that the dungeons tend to create trials as soon as the third or as late as the ninth floor.” The only reaction to this enlightening information was a collective *gulp* and scraping sounds made when human troops retreated a few steps.

“Fuck…”

“Really? But the first floor is already a bitch to clear!”

“N-nine floors?!”

“The first boss was only beatable by the Swords of Hope… and even they got demolished on the second floor.”

Their murmurs were mostly inaudible to the party leaders, but I could hear them just fine.

“So these tunnels can go as deep as nine levels into the earth?!” Shouted Lois. Unlike his surroundings, there was no trace of fear or hesitation in his expression. Instead, there was… joy?

That human was really weird.

“While it’s certainly possible, I doubt it. Considering the time that passed since the dungeon was uncovered and its current state I would guess that it’s at maximum four levels deep. Not more.”

“I see.” Charles laughed with relief, while the rest of the warriors reaffirmed grip on their weapons.

“Still, marvelous.” Hummed Master Vincent. “A fully functional trial on the first floor. With a skill as a reward for perfect completion.”

“Is it rare?”

“Why, yes. Most dungeons simply offer some materials, experience, sometimes a magical item.” He nodded his head while stroking a grey beard. “This? It’s unique. I guess Forgotten Dungeons really are special.” His grumbles grew quieter. “If only these damn half-elves weren’t so keen on destroying them…”

“Too bad the divine box doesn’t tell us what skills would be granted to the victor.” Mused Captain Duree.

Divine box, eh? I thought. What a curious expression. I guess it was rather obvious that they called it like that because of Mirabelle and Brighton, the only two gods I knew of. Somehow I doubted that Gangria was counted amongst their number.

“Considering that the trial demands a warrior-like elimination process I would guess that they should be about hand-to-hand or weapon combat.” Grinned Lois. His bloodied body seemed to be already fine, the dented breastplate ditched somewhere in favor of leather armor.

“It’s not so obvious, you know.” Smiled Master Vincent. He eyed the speaking warrior, changing his tone to more serious. “There were cases where a mage trial granted a physical skill. Or where a rogue was given magical ability.” He once again stopped speaking to stroke his pitiful beard. “The dungeons are sometimes like that. Random.”

I grinned. That was an excellent suggestion. If given time and chance I would use it for sure - one more way to screw the invaders.

“No other way, but try. Still, according to the soldier.” He glared at his prisoner. “At least two other people tried and failed to beat it. And like everything else in this dungeon the penalty was death. Do we really want to risk any of the higher-ups?”

Now that was interesting. Captain Duree's words suggested that other dungeons don’t kill the invaders. Or rather, that their trials are less severe? I had two pairs set up already, but each of them was a type the gamblers call all in.

What was even more curious even the trial that was forced on me, the trial of combat had a very spartan feel to it.

More questions.

No answers.

“T-the other ones died, sire. I saw them raising their hands in surrender, only to be b-beaten down b-by the u-undead.” The captive stuttered, speaking while trying to bow. Not only was he bound with ropes, but he also had a pair of chains clamped on his arms and legs. The dirty and torn dark blue uniform identified him as a part of the soldier detachment guarding the place.

“Shut up, traitor.” Captain Duree slapped the speaker, sending him tumbling on the ground.

“Sir, please! I-I didn’t know it was a crime!” The prisoner cried out, blood flowing from the cut lip marring the cold floor.

“Ignorance of the law excuses no one.” Smirked Duree. “Still, according to the military regulations, the information you provided to the authorities redeemed you somewhat...” He pointed towards the two waiting Spar-masters.

“T-thank y-you, s-sir…”

“Your sentence will be changed to simply hanging instead of quartering.”

“What?! NO, NO, PLEASE, NO!”

“Take him away.”

Two of the closest soldiers only looked at each other, shaking their heads and dragging the screaming and struggling prisoner back to the upper level. The rest of the soldiers straightened their backs, wisps of greed disappearing from their squinted eyes.

I was curiously waiting for their next words when a commotion above ground had drawn my attention.

The human and half-elven soldiers were screaming at each other, their hands nervously resting on the blades, loudly spoken curses were exchanged, while their faces filled with anger and disgust. They were gesticulating, pointing fingers, and nearly brawling.

My camera noted it all.

The situation was even more complicated for humans, because most of the human leadership was currently underground, leaving carpenter Tom and merchant Outeles Kamap in the outpost. None of whom had authority over the troops.

Because of this the situation only escalated - which I wasn’t too worried about since I was all about lessening the number of sentients. There was something strange going on though. I wasn’t an expert on human interaction, now more than ever since being thrown into an inanimate crystal, but the normal progression of such interaction should be violence.

And it was the elves who were stopping it from happening.

It was then that I noticed that some of the half-elven higher-ups were stealing weird glances at the empty space…

Wait!

There was something there!

A shimmer-like disruption.

It reminded me of how the predator tended to use his cloaking device. In the older movies at least, not the recent garbage that was thrown into cinemas before my untimely death.

I squinted, using the zoom on the camera to the greatest advantage.

There were...

Two? Yes, I think two figures were trying to... sneak into my dungeon.

The humans were none the wiser, their attention solely focused on beating the shit out of elves.

I observed as the infiltrators climbed down the stairway and slowly made their way toward the boss's room.

Instead of fighting they chose to sneak by and no amount of nudging could force the Enhanced Bile-brain Guardian to attack something it couldn’t see.

The situation on the second floor was a bit better, but not by much.

The Lebir Exploders charged forward, but trying to pinpoint the location of invaders was a chore - they ducked and weaved, appearing for a moment and then disappearing immediately. And while my undead had some ability to see in the dark they lacked the life sense that was often attributed to them in games. Not to mention zombies and skeletons - and these were fantasy equivalents of my monsters - had any special abilities.

They didn’t tire though. That much was similar to how undead worked both in games and on Yana.

I was getting nervous, considering how to intercept the intruders, when I noticed where they were going.

My reaction was to summon even more reinforcements - adding patrols of the Ironflame rats and Electro-Touched Lebirs while reinforcing the sentient's belief that they were going the right way. I banked on a game-like idea that the path of the largest resistance was the correct one.

It seemed to work, as the invisible elves happily pranced forward, their sharp daggers even disposing of some of my creations.

Fools.

Like the orcs before they were walking straight into a trap, towards pretty much the only monster in my dungeon that didn’t rely on sight and was thus immune to their little ploy.

The Glass Progenitor.

This monstrous tentacle with always hungry maw hunted by vibration and sound after all, which weren’t suppressed by their magic items. Or maybe abilities. I wasn’t sure what exactly they were using.

The elves stopped at the entrance of the Underground Lake Room, probably surprised by the lack of opposition.

I worried that they would just turn back and escape, but it seemed like my worries were unwarranted. Soon their steps echoed creepily in the gloomy room, the only other sound being a whisper of the running water.

The invaders were halfway there when the monster struck.

A transparent tentacle shot out from the water, instantly impaling one of the elves on the wall. He screamed in pain while hacking at the attacker with his dagger. These were however only small pricks to the Glass Progenitor. The other infiltrator only stared in silence, his face and cloak showered in blood, turning the cloaking device useless.

The monster wrapped itself around the dying victim (not many sentients can survive a pierced stomach) and started to drag him back underwater, to feed.

The second elf hesitated for a moment but seeing the water turning red he chose the only sensible option.

He started to run.

In the meantime, I gathered most of my monsters on the way downwards and upwards - to block the escaping pest.

I reasoned that while the half-elven army had a few hundred warriors they only sent two to scout (or maybe conquer?) - this meant that either the items they wore were priceless artifacts or their skills were incredibly rare among their people.

Otherwise, what would stop them from attacking me with dozens of such squads?

If it was an item I would prefer to have a chance to experiment on it. If it was a skill… then denying the sentients knowledge about the second level and destroying an important human resource was a win in my book.

Or was it an elven resource?

Anyway.

My monsters were trying to stop the elf from escaping.

And they failed.

It was mostly because of the pure dodging skill of the invader, but also his determination. Both Lebirs and rats managed to wound him, however, even going as far as nearly gouging one of his eyes.

The bleeding and exhausted sentient managed to arrive at the first-floor staircase…

But he forgot about the Floor Guardian.

My monster was waiting for him, stone fists prepared to pound him into oblivion. It was big enough to block the escape from the room, its large build for once turning out useful.

I could see the despair on his once handsome face, as he tiredly raised his daggers and prepared for the last fight of his life.

And then…

A human arrived while burying a strangely sharp butcher knife in my Guardian’s ass.

“I knew I smelled blood!” He screamed, pouncing at the golem.

[OH COME ON!] I screamed even louder.