Uno

My Drones were hard at work. They buzzed with excitement, happy at a rare chance to put their talents to the test. Normally the dungeon didn’t require much maintenance, especially since human delving (if we can even call it that) was limited to the first two floors. I also stopped proper head-bashing from occurring since Silver Oasis needed all the help it could get. Killing off their hopefuls seemed to run contrary to that directive even if it added to my chances of making the fifth floor in time.

There were exceptions, of course, like Lebir Spar-masters on the first floor, who had long since slipped my grasp. Or the Idiot-Smith who wouldn’t stop working even if I ordered it to do so. Still, the rest of the monsters knew better than to go for the kill.

That meant no fighting to the death, no explosions, no biological weapons, and no epic battles - which translated into no damage, leaving the dungeon workers with nothing to do.

Thankfully Drones were simple, barely alive things. They hibernated when necessary, looking more like powered-down robots than proper monsters. All of them but Sculptor, who unceasingly roamed my underground halls to carve away more of its visions. This amount of independence was rare in a Drone - even a named one.

More worryingly some of its works started to resemble how my creatures depicted me. A larger-than-life figure, an avatar of magic and knowledge, constantly pondering as it led its creations to a better future… While my tenure as a ghost-like being blurred my sense of self I still remembered a fat, dirty body I inhabited while human. I remembered being a cog in a machine, and more importantly, how rushed and random my decisions were… and still are. In this light, all that religious zeal, especially from the Ratlings, seemed unnecessary and even grating.

And yet I had no way to stop it.

Even explaining from whence I came and how things really stood turned out to be a mistake, as I observed how my gaming knowledge slowly became something akin to a mythos. Worse. It was turning into reality, with powers, items, creatures, and spells inspired by games and media I consumed in Before.

The Lebirs were less affected, their simple minds not allowing them to comprehend much.

Still, the corruption had already spread, as they saluted when I floated by, their bodies straightening like I was an emperor wandering his palace!

Who taught them to behave like that?

I wasn’t even going to mention Butchers and their compulsive devotion. A clan of spider-like monsters focused on creating and maintaining equipment who thought that my will was being channeled through their items. What could go wrong?

Every single one of my intelligent monsters was a zealot. I huffed in annoyance, before recentering myself. To be fair, it probably came with the territory, since they had contact with their creator - a tangible, visible being. Something, now that I thought about it, that would probably be a rare thing - as far as it came to dungeon cores. Of course, despite the stupidity of my crystal brethren the saying about infinite monkeys and typewriters would still make sense.

Which meant that there ought to be some other intelligent creatures born out of the dungeons. I idly wondered if the Luna Kingdom’s infamous “intelligent” dungeon created a sentient race before its destruction.

Anyway, the devotion of dungeonborn was worrying. Who knew if becoming a target of faith could put me on a divine hit list? It seemed like the remaining gods had other problems to deal with, the twin goddess Gangria included. I suspected she was in the middle of some kind of a divine coup, but these problems were far above my pay grade.

I worried, but it wasn’t the first thing in my life that was out of my control, so after pondering for some time I just went along with it.

Instead of worrying I decided to focus on what really mattered - which meant devising a way to trick Charles into agreeing to my upgrades. It was something that I knew would be only possible when shit hit the fan. In a pinch, I could simply kidnap him, but forgoing subtlety would be a last resort. I had plans for my future and doing so would burn too many bridges.

It was all a balancing act.

Meanwhile, Silver Oasis and my scouts scoured the surroundings, hoping to prepare for an inevitable attack. We knew the Geinard Kingdom’s troops were coming, we just weren’t sure when. The half-elves and elves could be a problem too, not to mention the deranged Lich we encountered earlier, so both monsters and rangers kept their eyes open.

Besides keeping watch over the tensions that happened on the surface, I had another project going - the underground’s newest addition called the Conversion Chamber. The structure had already been dug out, the wall smoothed and even carved in some places (I didn’t even see when Sculptor got its claws on it!).

The finished room had an oval shape, with a lonely stone platform rising in the middle and a floor a good bit lower than the rest of the level.

I made sure to add a bunch of grooves on both sides of the platform, with empty slots to put the collected essence. The right diameter was a mystery, but for now, I settled on fist-sized spaces because I could easily change them in the future. I also didn’t forget about adding some “safety measures”. A harness for the head, arms, and legs, with a few dozen sturdy belts to add to the equation. They should be able to constrain even Non, should she thrash about during the procedure.

In the end, the platform looked more like a torture implement than a hospital bed… but it would do the job it was made to fulfill.

A few electrical chandeliers were added to brighten the room, as well as a reinforced door and a couple of cabinets. The middle of the floor was maybe twenty centimeters lower than the outer parts of the room with two wide steps bridging the gap. Most of the furniture was stone or iron, which turned the room grey. I was never that good at decorations, so the rest was left for my minions to alter. Sculptor was raring to go, trying to finish what it started.

Under the platform, I attached something akin to cables - but instead of using them to carry current, I focused on carving the required runes into their insides. The copper was easier to work through than my other options, more malleable and forgiving too. I still surrounded it in iron, as there was a need to keep each piece of metal stable. I could leave this job to the Ratlings, but I would feel guilty if the whole thing went in flames the moment we started Non’s operation.

It took dozens of tries to carve each of the hundreds of runes, their power rising more and more, the larger their amount grew. As I continued my work the sheer pressure seemed to attach an intent to the whole contraption. It was such a curious thing - observing how the runes' focal points changed as I willed them so. The caveat was that my focus couldn’t waver for even a second. I learned about it the hard way, as the first few times it happened a piece of metal I worked on had turned to dust. It was an impossible task for a mortal, yet a manageable thing for a dungeon core. It turned out that being an oversized calculator had its advantages.

I used runes of binding, stabilizing, and force, with the intent to both reinvigorate and relax the person lying in the middle of the setup. The more runes were added, the sharper their purpose grew, with some unseen resonance in the works, which led to the room eventually becoming recognizable even to the most mundane of my creatures. Their reactions were varied - Lebirs, for example, actively avoided the place.

It didn’t matter, however. As I fell into a whirl of work the hours became days.

It took some time, but I finished the job, leaving a place positively thrumming with power. The rest had to wait for Non’s return.

Of course, in the meantime, a few pairs of soul-drinking daggers were bestowed upon Ratlings. I had also given orders to experiment on the harvesting, both on secondary dungeon snakes and wild monsters. After that, a few undead were stationed nearby - Lebirs, zombies, and skeletons. If anything it would be interesting to see what gathered lifeforce (soulforce?) would do to a bunch of bones.

I nearly fell into a lull but a thought had struck me.

What about Jailer Jonathan?

His spawn point had been chained to the first floor and my instincts vehemently opposed the idea of relocating him… But rules were meant to be broken.

After all, he wasn’t really on the first floor - at least for most of my dungeon’s existence.

That meant that his spawn point wasn’t there, and I could move it away - right?

My instincts screeched in protest, but the feeling was weaker this time. Less sure.

If I thought deeply about it, Jonathan was a pretty powerful undead.

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It should be lower than the first floor since my dungeon was supposed to be fair to the delvers.

Thankfully my fourth floor had a free place.

A happy coincidence.

And it wasn’t like anyone had delved that deep yet.

Right?

With a snap, the spawn point came loose. I grinned at the success of my self-hypnosis. I was good at deluding myself… ah, but then that wasn’t something to be proud of.

I will find a new job.

I will find a girlfriend.

I will start exercising.

Tomorrow. Always tomorrow.

Thoroughly soured I moved Jailer to the fourth floor, accelerating his respawn. Soon the armored figure was summoned, his bones and bits of flesh reemerging from the void.

Aaaaaaand the stupid beast immediately started wandering the place to find food. Remembering our pact, I sighed. I sure hoped he liked the snake diet!

Feeling drained I wondered what I could do to relax.

Since there was still no sign of the Geinard Kingdom's undead I decided to get some use out of my avatar. It didn’t feel like a waste of my remaining free time. After all, I noticed one important thing I forgot to test.

The body that I was currently inhabiting (once belonging to a man called Peter) had two affinities. Earth and Shadow. There was also a class, but that part of his System connection simply melted away after I took over.

Was that a failsafe against monsters gaining human classes, or something simpler, like his soul disappearing after I devoured it whole?

Who knew?

Anyway, the important part was that his memories of casting spells remained intact, yet I didn’t use even a bit of this knowledge. It was a mistake that I was going to rectify right now.

After settling down in one of the secondary dungeon’s more isolated locations I focused on the act of gathering mana. It was strange, and much more involved than what I did as a Dungeon Core. The difference was staggering - between waving my hand to summon rain and tediously filling up a bucket by hand.

Still, after a few tries I managed to gather enough energy… only for the spell to fizzle because I forgot about the attunement.

Grumbling I repeated the process again and again - thankfully Peter’s body remembered how to do so, the unconscious tics and instinctive reactions guiding me through the worst of it. Soon a pitifully weak Earth Armor covered my body. It wasn’t just a piece of equipment, though. While wearing it the magic reinforced my muscles and skin, raising my physical abilities to that of a warrior. Still, it was much less impressive than the one Peter could summon, but good enough for a first try.

Understanding the method I started to check the other spells and attributes. At first, it seemed like Peter’s knowledge was terribly shallow, but his borrowed memories let me know that his repertoire was actually pretty impressive. Most common mages mastered only a spell or two. Many of them couldn’t or wouldn’t innovate and were stuck with the System’s level-up rewards.

Peter was different. As a Princess aide, some things were easier to acquire than others. He still had to work for the rewards but at least he had a chance to do so. Said rewards often meant magical grimoires. Despite the scarcity of such items, the military had deep roots, especially in a country like the Geinard Kingdom.

Grimoires did sound like something special, yet it turned out they were a simple thing - books that contained knowledge and sometimes the author’s personal experiences about spells. This allowed the neophytes to learn and - in case of attaining mastery - even add them to their casting list managed by the System. The need for such items felt stupid, but made sense, considering that the human Kingdom lacked a method to implant memories.

The problem was exacerbated by one more thing. As far as I knew - or more like, as far as Peter knew - the System’s advent tore away the ability to sense mana from the majority of people, human and otherwise. What was once a common skill now appeared only when one was high enough level or possessed an innate ability to do so. The rest had to grope in the dark.

This meant that trying to create new spells or change the already existing ones could be done only at the risk of the mage's very life. No matter how small, any mistake could end up in a catastrophe.

I shook my head, banishing the thoughts.

Right now this knowledge wasn’t important but its implication was pushing my thoughts in an interesting direction.

I could sense mana, even in this vessel. Should I try my hand at spell crafting? I wasn’t experienced by any means, but these formulas and chants felt inadequate. Weak. Especially after observing what Charles had managed to do with his spells.

I breathed out.

Maybe later.

For now, let's focus on learning how to make this magic mine. Relying on muscle memory was unacceptable. I should also check what other spells Peter had in his arsenal.

Recalling his spell list was quick.

When it came to Earth affinity besides Earth Armor, he had also managed to acquire Earth to Mud, Earth Spike, and Tremor. These three magics were basic utility, attack, and area of attack spells. Safe. Mundane. Stable.

The Shadow was more interesting but instead of four, my predecessor learned only three spells. They were called Hide in the Shadows, Shadow Puppet, and Steal Shadow, which were successively utility, summoning, and immobilizing spells.

I was ready to begin my training anew when the sentries raised the alarm.

The message sent was simple: the dead were coming.

Our scouts noticed a ragged column advancing from the Shieldstar’s direction. We still had an hour or two before they shambled closer.

The reports had already said that their ranks had been ravaged, many of the undead sporting wounds, and lacking limbs or eyes. But, like we had worried, they didn’t lack the fodder - skeletons, and zombies just kept coming, with dozens appearing with every second.

Silver Oasis was looking like an anthill on fire, the runners sprinting everywhere and the soldiers preparing a defensive line.

Soon enough Charles and his entourage appeared near the Oasis’ mustering army. I ordered one of the puppets to waddle closer, a megaphone hanging from its neck.

“It seems like they didn’t leave anything to chance.”

Charles spat on the ground, before answering. “From what my scouts say they have about eight hundred meat shields. Less than I worried about, more than I hoped for.” Suddenly he squinted. “It will be a tough fight, but we’ll prevail. It’s the elites I’m worried about. Somebody has to be leading them, and the type of commander will decide the type of attack we’ll face.”

“Aren’t you glad that the undead are predictable?” I teased.

“It’s easier to fight them than your forces, at least.”

“Why, thank you!”

“Sir! Sir!” A runner appeared, his young face red with exhaustion.

“Report!”

“Sir! The undead are approaching, and we identified their leaders! There are three skeleton undead of significant power. Also…” The young boy hesitated.

“Spit it out!”

“Yes, sir… the undead are wearing liveries with a flame. A blue flame.”

“T-they do?”

“Yes. My condolences, sir.” The runner’s eyes were full of pity.

I saw that Charles breathed in and out, his chest heaving. A trace of tears appeared before he wiped it out. Agnes caught his hand, squeezing it tightly. That gave him the strength to continue his questioning.

“Y-you said that three skeletons were leading the invasion, right?”

“Yes, sir!”

“By chance…” The red-haired mage closed his eyes and swallowed. “By any chance are they also wearing Blue Flame heraldry?” Seeing the boy nod, he continued. “Is one of them abnormally large, and the second one has only one hand?”

After a moment of hesitation, the runner spoke back. “I would need to make sure.”

“Then do so.”

“Charles?” Agnes murmured into his ear. “Are you okay?”

“No… I don’t think I am okay.” He whispered back. “You know that I wasn’t on the best terms with my family. Most of my brothers and sisters treated me badly, just because I wasn’t able to conjure the flame they were so in love with. Despite that they were family. We shared the same blood. We grew up together.”

“And now… there is a real possibility that they’re dead. Or worse - that their desecrated bodies are assaulting my new home under the order of a Kingdom I was once proud to be a part of. How am I supposed to feel?!” Charles's shoulders were hunched over, buckling under invisible strain.

The naga-kin turned him around, clasping his head into her hands. “It will be alright. You have me, and the others that support you! You have power now, and with it comes responsibility!”

“So, what do you say?” She grinned, her golden eyes radiating warmth. Charles smiled back shyly, his face reflecting his fiancee's faith.

“I will stand my ground. For you.”

Both Agnes and Charles were in their own little world. As they kissed I couldn’t help myself. I had to be a little shit.

“And for me, I hope?” I chimed in, only to be awarded a double look of disgust.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Uno?”

“Can’t you sense the mood, Core?”

They answered in unison.

I chuckled. “So, lovebirds, who are we against?”

Charles’ face immediately stilled. “If I am correct then the ones leading the assault are my three brothers. The one without a hand is Akkan, called the Living Inferno, a powerful mage specializing in large-area spells. Souldi, his younger twin, is called the Flaying Blade because of his cruelty and skill when fighting in melee.”

“A magic knight, then?” Agnes added.

“Yes. One who mastered using our signature flame, of course.”

“And the third one?” I pushed.

His face soured even more. “The large one is called Kinth, the Youngest. Kinth, the Prodigy. Kinth, the Savant. He… he was the only one in the family who didn’t try to demean me. He was just a happy child. Big, clueless guy.” He sighed. “As talented as one could be when it came to fire magic.” He smiled softly at the memory before growing serious. “If not for that… if not for that cursed talent he would probably have followed me to the Oasis and be spared all of this.”

“Why did you never tell me about him?” Agnes whispered.

“A failure bragging about his genius little brother? It was unbecoming. I wasn’t trying to ride his coattails.” Charles stretched his arms out. “After that? I just forgot. The Blueflames were out of my life and I didn’t want to think about them more than needed. It didn’t help that they cut me off.”

“And now remains of my family are coming to kill me.” A green flame started to burn in his red eyes. I could feel the draw on my mana, but let him continue. “They’ll find me different than before. And after that, I will be taking my pound of flesh from those, who had raised them.”

“Be it King, Queen, or Lord Hawk.” Charles clenched his fists. “They will pay.”