Reinmund’s piercing green eyes gazed at the stone archway, standing unmarred in the center of an implausibly large burned out clearing. He tried to imagine the power needed to burn every tree within 200 paces to cinder, and forced himself to calm. It was just an intimidation tactic, designed by the dungeon to throw him off; he couldn’t let it get to him.

Reinmund was a short man, the longsword strapped to his back nearly dragged across the muddy ground, but the appearance of a C ranker rarely said much of their physical strength. His gear was a mixture of Lightsilver and leather, barely impeding his movement. While normally the light metal scales would be gleaming in the faintest light, they were currently dulled by the mud splattered across every inch of his body. Traveling through the Wilds was no joke.

When his team had been assigned an expedition to a no name dungeon somewhere out in the Wilds, Reinmund hadn’t known what to think. While being considered skilled enough to explore a new dungeon was an honor, usually such initial exploration was done by small parties. These Adventurers would thoroughly explore the space before larger groups were sent. Only newly discovered dungeons that had been expanding for centuries rated a full-scale expedition, which made their current trip odd, to say the least.

But orders were orders, and if Sigmundr thought this dungeon rated an expedition Reinmund wasn’t going to argue. While the Director was a hard man, he was no dumb noble.

“That’s it?” Janus, one of Reinmund’s party, asked in a hushed whisper.

He was a tall, skinny man who didn’t seem capable of wielding the massive bow strapped across his back. Even Reinmund wasn’t sure how far into C rank Janus was, but he wielded the massive weapon like a toy.

“Shows what you know” Jeannette, their mage, smirked as she restarted an old argument. Her tan battle robes were in sharp contrast to the rest of their clothing, were spotless; one of the benefits of being a fire cultivator. Even mud burned if you were hot enough

Alessandro was the last member of their team. His full metal plate and the tower shield perpetually strapped to his arm were unique among C rankers; most C ranked enemies would have no trouble ripping the armor to shreds. Alessandro had focused on enhancing his body over external mana abilities, giving him significant durability over flashy mana capacity. Nevertheless, Reinmund knew that the man was capable of beating the snot out of most cultivators of his rank.

Once all of the Adventurers had gathered, Botolf, one of the group's two B rankers, clapped his hands. The sound was similar to stones shattering. All the little sounds that suffused the clearing, whispered conversations, the occasional trilling of birds, were silenced by a mixture of the Adventurer's discipline and the man's aura. The few shreds of sunlight that penetrated the dense canopy cast the scene in the eerie gloom; the same lighting conditions that, combined with the muddy terrain, made their two two-week journey a living nightmare.

“You all know why we're here.” The man's voice reverberated throughout the clearing, his voice the sound of grinding rock. “For some of you this is your first dungeon. For others, this is the latest in a long line of expeditions. Regardless, this could be the last dungeon you ever visit.”

His eyes swept across the gathered Adventurers. It was a mixed bunch, the occasional dwarf or orc sticking out like a sore thumb. Siegfried was a human kingdom, but the Adventurer Society welcomed all. Regardless of their species, they each listened intently, knowing that the B rankers shared wisdom could mean the difference between life and death.

“Remember the first rule. Respect the dungeon.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a nod from Botolf, the party commanders were shouting, sending their teams into frantic action. Tents were erected, fires were started, trenches were dug, brush was cleared, and in less time than an F ranker would have believed possible, the C ranked Adventurers had a camp up and running. The smell of roasting meat and the noise of boisterous laughter rang through the clearing as the group continued an old Adventurer tradition.

They continued an Adventurer tradition, partying the night away; each of them knowing that this could be the last night they would live to see.

____________________________________________________________________________

There was one benefit of being a C ranked cultivator that surpassed all others. It was lauded throughout the world, causing many a hopeless plebe to struggle through the years of work and bloodshed required to reach C rank. It was the crown jewel of cultivation, the reason many of the Adventurer Society's traditions survived the test of time.

C rankers don’t get hangovers.

As Reinmund stood in front of the dungeon’s entrance he felt fresh as a daisy, despite last night’s festivities. He stared at the shimmering archway, his face a tight mask of anticipation. For some unknown reason he and his team were given the dubious honor of being the first in the dungeon. Dungeons tended to “compensate” for large groups, usually with lethal results. Considering the dungeon had a single floor, only one party would be allowed in at a time. More might lead to… problems.

He surveyed his team, each of them giving him a tight nod, before signaling Alessandro to advance. As the group's tank it would be his duty, privilege, and the reason for his astronomically high cut, to be the first to encounter almost any situation. He’d considered appealing the decision for his team to go first but remembered a common saying among Adventurers, the words never feeling truer.

Lab rats have no rights.

A second later Reinmund and the rest of the team had followed their tank into the unknown.

Reinmund noticed three things as he entered the dungeon. The first was the lighting, an unusual yellowish green. The second was the door on the other side of the room. The third was the grid of tiles on the floor, each with a symbol squiggled onto its surface. You can probably guess which fact he disliked the most.

“If this is a gods forsaken puzzle dungeon, I am going to kill myself.” Janus said the words in a serene tone that informed Reinmund the man had hit the limit of his patience 2.65 steps into the dungeon.

Reinmund couldn’t help but agree. Puzzle dungeons had a mysterious way of disappearing before they could make a contract, but every once in a while one managed to slip past the kill tea-erhm Assessment Party and slaughter some poor Adventurer who didn’t know the 24th number in the Fibonacci Sequence. Puzzle dungeons were literally the worst. And that was taking into account Necromantic, Dark, Death, and just plain Evil Dungeons.

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“We don’t know that, it could be random chance” Jeannette sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as her party.

“Any ideas?” Reinmund asked.

Reinmund watched Jeannette study the intricate patterns, her long familiarity with runes and academic education lending her insight. She focused, tracing each of the lines, applying her B ranked mind to the process at hand. Slowly she peeled back the deceptions, found the patterns in the characters, calculated the complex algorithm that would allow them safe passage across the room.

Not.

“I got nothing, time for plan B. Alessandro, you're up.”

“Wait, what?” The man looked as confused as he sounded.

“Well, somebody has to do it. I’m too pretty, Janus would just die, and Reinmund is too short.”

“Hey!” Both Janus and Reinmund complained

“What does being short have to do with-you know what? I’m not going to banter words with you. There is absolutely no way you could get me to-”

“I’ll buy you all the beer you can drink for a night.”

The instant Reinmund had finished his sentence, Alessandro shot across the room, his C ranked strength allowing him to clear the space without touching the floor. He landed lightly on the other side, then turned and grinned back to the group, who was staring, openmouthed, after him.

“All the beer you can buy? Deal.”

“That’s not what I-” Reinmund was cut off as Janus flashed past him, landing next to the tank.

“You can’t just-” Jeannette daintily hopped the gap, landing next to the archer before turning to stare primly back at him.

Reinmund sighed before following his team. In all the years they’d been together, he’d never seen Alleserado drunk. Ever. It was going to be a long night.

Once everyone was present, they turned to find an empty room, with a doorway set into the far wall.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one getting highly suspicious vibes from this whole setup” Janus muttered.

They carefully examined the room, starting with the floors, moving up to the ceiling and walls, their C ranked perception allowing them to examine the space with exacting detail. However, no matter how hard they looked, the room still remained stubbornly empty.

“Pit trap,” Janus guessed.

“Probably,” Jeannette agreed.

There was a single, extremely effective solution to pit traps: don’t fall in. There was a single, extremely effective way not to fall in: jump over it. Unknown to this party, this was the same tactic the Assessment Party had used. To test their theory, Janus fired an arrow at the floor. Sure enough, the arrows went straight through what was now revealed to be a thin sheet covering a wide, spike lined pit.

With a shrug, Reinmund crouched and launched from the edge of the pit, arcing across the depression in a single smooth bound. He turned back to his group, only to notice a troubled frown on Jeannette’s face, which slowly morphed to a mask of horror. He blinked in confusion before noticing he couldn’t feel his arms. Or legs. Or much of anything really.

His decapitated head hit the floor just as the world went black.

____________________________________________________________________________

“SCORE!!!” Ryia screamed as the Adventurer died. I looked on in silence.

The trap had been a group project, her natural grasp of illusions combining with my natural knowledge of traps to create a trap that was almost, but not quite unbeatable. Why did Ryia have a natural grasp of illusions? She’s literally a will o’ the wisp, pay attention. The key to the trap was paranoia, which this group hadn’t possessed.

The Assessment Group just leaping over the spike pit on my original first floor had taught me how much being a cultivator changed the dynamic of traps, and how I could manipulate an Adventurer's assumptions about “normal” dungeons to my advantage. In this case, there had been one trap in the room, and one illusion. The illusion was created by a rune, so kindly provided by Sigmundr. It took my Intent and formed an illusion with it, the more mana I provided, the better the illusion would be. Several molecule-thin wires stretched across the room; strengthening enchantments engraved on the molecular level. When Reinmund had leapt across the "pit", he'd been diced up like a mouse with a PantherCat.

It was only beatable by a team member with B ranked perception, extremely good mana senses, or complete paranoia. The Assessment Team, which I was now realizing were probably elites, had all three. This group had none.

I should have been elated, should have been celebrating along with Ryia, should have been rejoicing as I slurped up the mana the Adventurer’s death brought. But as I looked at the dead man’s screaming friends, tears running down their faces from grief and helpless rage, I suddenly realized that there was one aspect of being a dungeon I had not considered.

I had just killed a good man.

Sure, he’d been here in search of treasure, sure he’d come into the dungeon of his own will, and sure his death was the entire reason for my dungeon. But he’d been a good man with his own hopes and dreams, his own plans for the future and aspirations of finding the treasure that would set him up for life. What was so wrong with that?

What in that was worthy of death?

“Granite?” Ryia had finally noticed my silence and was hovering next to my core, watching the scene next to me. Her voice held a note of concern as she followed my mana, finding what I was looking at.

“Oh.” We watched in silence as the Adventuring party, who's mage had discovered the trap half a second too late, frantically tried to find a safe passage through the wires to reach the mutilated remains of their friend.

Yeah… no.

“Granite, what are you doing?” Ryia’s voice held a note of confusion and slight worry as I began to work.

I burned mana like water, my core visibly dimming as I pushed my domain down, below my core, below Zimisites mana, so deep only a powerful A ranker would be able to perceive it. Unnoticed by me, the B rankers on the surface had stopped their current activities to stare downward, eyes widening in disbelief at the sheer amount of mana moving.

The ambient mana helped; responding to the emotion strewn Intent radiating from my Core, my aura, my very magical matrix, leaving a mark next to the one I’d gained from Zimisite’s death. My domain ballooned down, widening until it encompassed a box half a kilometer to a side, the largest I could currently manage by reabsorbing my first-floor mobs and chomping as much of Zimisite’s mana as I could. The Adventuring team was blown through my entrance archway as I simultaneously filled in the rest of the rooms on the first floor, creating the same effect as a bomb going off in front of them.

____________________________________________________________________________

Whether it was their bond, her understanding of Granite, or just sheer intuition, Ryia grasped Granite’s intention. She saw what the emotional fool of a Core was attempting, something that only someone as empathetic and strange as he could have thought up.

Ryia opened her mouth to object, to try and stop this foolishness, before slowly closing it. She admitted to herself that, deep down, she agreed with Granite, had always agreed with him. Although it was the fastest way for a Core to gain power, the dungeon method was only for those who cared little for ENADs and, looking back, that had never been Granite. And beyond their weird customs and strange fascination with loot, ENADs were people. She watched as Granite formed a floor deep beneath the crust of the world, special even among all the crazy things Cores throughout the ages had come up.

She just hoped Granite knew what he was doing.