When, thanks to Zimisite’s gratuitous contribution, my domain had expanded, I started work on the third floor. Ryia’s revelation about how intent mattered with high mana creatures opened a whole new world of possibilities, to the point where I had difficulty choosing the floor’s theme. I didn’t want a repeat of the last floor, in the end I’d replaced the kitten with an enhanced non-intelligent snake, but the chance to have smart mobs was too good to pass up.

Compared to the gargantuan second floor, the third floor was small; just a single large room. I manifested a dozen peak C ranked beasts along with some barricades to protect against ranged attacks. My Intent was to create soldiers capable of using Boom Lab weapons. Yes, that’s what I’m calling my weapons lab. Don’t judge me.

The place was lit by torches lining the walls, fed by my new wonder gas. I set up my magic daisies to regulate the air content, as well as a ventilation shaft to the second floor. There was absolutely no way my mobs were suffocating to death.

I just jinked that didn’t I? Crap.

The Litterbox was a circular stone room, completely bare of any traps. B rankers were legendary for their ability to not die, mainly because their bodies were made of mana. Blow them up, freeze them, cut them to chunks and burn those chunks, drop a mountain on them, they’d take all that and come out with a smile. At best… you’d be splattered into chunks by a B ranked backhand.

Other B rankers could get around this, equivalent mana density and all that, but otherwise B rankers were pretty much immortal. Crazy powerful immortals. Emphasis on crazy. Making it to B rank involved a whole lot of hard work, as well as centuries of effort. It wasn’t something a nice, trusting, or even normal ENAD could manage.

All this to say, I reinforced the crap out of the Litterbox to the point the walls were just one big mass of strengthening enchantments. The space was pitch black, which shouldn’t be a problem for B rankers. Once I was done, I manifested the kitten, which took its customary crossed-legged position. A few days and the thing would hopefully be ready to teach B ranked Adventurers what true strength looked like.

Mwahahahahaha!

Don’t judge me.

One or two teams of Adventures had shown up a day, with varying levels of success. Several teams had stopped at the end of the first floor, receiving whatever stuff I thought they deserved, but most had continued to the second floor.

Beyond the first team there'd been a big fat zero casualties. Levelheaded and well lead teams not up against B ranked beasts were surprisingly adept at staying alive. The Adventures I’d already killed had, with great tears of joy and happiness and bla bla bla, met up in the Underworld and explored a good portion of the floor. There weren't really any challenging mobs there yet, as I was waiting to develop a working magical matrix before populating true freedom-earning mobs. Why? Because no Underworld would be complete without ghosts, of course.

When I was ready, I opened the staircase to my third floor.

____________________________________________________________________________

Botolf, B ranked co-leader of the expedition, examined the sword in his hands; his stoic brown eyes scrutinizing the swirling symbols etched along the blade. While the second team’s disappearance had been concerning, subsequent parties had little difficulty with the mobs or traps. In fact, there had been several indications that Adventurers who died in the dungeon weren’t truly dead, though if this was just a dungeon trick was unknown. For example, the sword in Botolf’s hand depicted an Adventurer revived in a place deep underground. Similar scenes had been found on almost all the loot taken from the dungeon. The audible snap of his aid’s salute pulled him from his musings.

“Sir, there’s been a discovery.”

“Go on.”

“Moroari’s team discovered the entrance to a third floor. They reported back before entering, but the third-floor entrance had a warning about possible permanent damage to one’s cultivation base. They also discovered a passage with warnings of B ranked danger.”

Botolf’s head snapped towards his aid, eyes narrowing in thought. That the dungeon had created a B ranked opponent so soon was… concerning. Nevertheless, the opportunity to sharpen yourself against a Core’s wiles was not to be taken lightly. Moroari had been smart not to just dive in, this sort of information was exactly why expeditions were created; to share information among teams, ensuring as few casualties as possible.

“Inform Valda and raise the dungeon party cap to three.”

“Yes sir.” The aid snapped off a quick salute, raising a closed fist to his chest just over his heart, before rushing to do Botolf’s bidding.

____________________________________________________________________________

Leeko Hasekura, direct descendent of the Emerald King, blessed by the heavens, and feared by all, sneered at the sniveling idiot of a dwarven aid that presumed to stand in his presence. The very presence of a filthy dwarf was an unbearable insult to his honor that would be punished on his return. As for the orcs present, if he had his way they’d die slowly for the crime of existing.

“Your party’s up for the next dungeon team slot.” The man dared to show indifference in the presence of his betters, as if by ignoring Leeko’s inherent superiority he could somehow raise himself to Leeko’s level. Leeko didn’t deign to respond, knowing that to speak in the presence of such a peon would sully his tongue.

The man shook his head and left; no doubt disappointed at not being graced with Leeko’s words. He clapped twice, and in an instant his team of handpicked men had assembled, bowing in deferrence to his majesty.

“We leave to conquer this filthy dungeon, for the honor of the Emerald sect.”

The men bowed once more, then backed out of the tent backwards, still bent. Leeko stood, his green silk robe swirling as he picked up the artifact gifted to him by his father. With it and his overwhelming talent for magic, nothing would stand in his way.

Minutes later, Leeko stood in front of the so-called dungeon, lip curling at the dirt that suffused the stone. After his men had filtered through, Leeko entered, finding the interior to be just as filthy as expected. The paneled floor was unadorned, the walls a stark void of nothingness that screamed of the simpleminded idiot who’d designed the place. He glanced at the obvious trap, his excellent perception picking out the swirls on the tiled floor that lessers would have missed. In an instant he’d uncovered the pattern.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Forward” he barked, and one of his men leapt to obey his master, following the tiles Leeko indicated.

____________________________________________________________________________

I watched in stupefied incredulity as the man ordered his party forward, waiting for Ryia to make some snarky comment. When it never came, I glanced around, realizing I hadn’t seen her since I stopped examining particles. I glanced through my dungeon surprised and a little worried when I couldn’t find her. I expanded my senses, the beginning of panic setting in as-oh. What in the absolute Zimisite?

Yes, I turned Zimisite into a curse word. I was getting tired of saying crap over and over and over and over and over. Stuff went wrong a lot.

Ryia was hovering over the prone form of an Adventurer, a bowl of… something in her hands. As I watched she carefully lathered it into the man’s hand. I looked closer for any injuries, stupefied at why she would help an ENAD. She really didn’t seem the caring type, which was probably the biggest understatement of my life.

Once she was done, she hovered to the center of the room.

“ON YOUR FEET SOLDIER!!!” Ryia bellowed in ManaSpeach. The man flew from his bunk on instinct, his hand rising to salute, smearing the stuff-that-shall-not-be-named into over his chest. Ryia started cackling at the man’s shouts of surprised disgust.

“What in the crap are you doing?” She jerked at my words, “accidentally” dropping the bowl onto the man’s hair with the sort of squelch that told you NOT to eat it. The man whirled around, unable to spot the invisible wisp.

“What am I doing? What am I doing!? I’m… uh…” I just stared at her, anticipation building at the possibility of finally one upping her.

“I’m participating in the dungeon outreach program. Gotta spread that misery!” Her cheery voice faded as she zipped away, back towards the dungeon. I stared after her incredulously, before flicking my perception after her.

I found her watching the Adventuring party struggling onwards. Despite the obvious ineptitude of their leader, the team was actually pretty good, blocking stone spikes or dispersing roiling torrents of flame with ease. Soon they were through the first room, only minor, rapidly healing injuries telling of the gauntlet they’d just run. In fact, the rest of the first floor was swept up with surprising ease, not even the might of the KingCat posing any real issue.

“What were you doing?” I asked, idly watching as a particularly large bodyguard bodily hurled the KingCat against a wall, the sound of breaking bones echoing through the room.

“What do you expect me to do when you stop talking for days on end? Pine away in a chamber somewhere? What, you think because I’m your wisp I just sit around, waiting for you to need me or something?”

Yeah, not going there.

“Fine, but isn’t it dangerous for you outside?”

She laughed.

“With my bond to you boosting my natural defense, it would take an A ranker to touch me.”

The team pressed on to the second floor, where the bodyguards started methodically slaughtering the mobs. My relationship with mobs was… complicated. On one hand I was their creator, which gave me some sense of responsibility for their fates. On the other hand, I had created them to fight and, barring a supermob worthy of immortalization, die. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if the kitten demanded to leave.

When the bodyguards had, with some minor participation on the leader’s part, cleared the twelfth room without taking more than surface wounds, I started to get annoyed. Sure I gained mana from the bodyguard’s abilities, but usually Adventurer’s made a big show of struggling through the second floor, each mob more difficult than the last until they finally defeated the boss by the skin of their teeth, half of them suffering major injuries. This was just… boring.

When they made it to the boss, in record time I might add, the leader finally stepped forward. He was holding a stone scepter taller than he was, the glowing rod intricately engraved with silver runes and enchantments. The image of the scrawny ENAD, a sneer perpetually frozen on his face, holding the powerful artifact gave off a strong my-daddy-bought-this-for-me vibe.

When the serpent, bulk so large it filled half of the box, lunged at the kid, he finally showed he wasn’t completely useless. The rod glowed a pale blue, ice coating the stone around the ENAD. As the snake’s massive maw neared the kid a beam of brilliant mana infused light, so bright even I had to look away, blasted from the rod, slamming into the snake's throat. When the glow faded, the snake hovered, not a single muscle moving.

Energy slipped from the snake, drifting through the air to be absorbed by the artifact. The kid tapped a fang, inches from his face, and the entire snake puffed into a strange type of water mana, disappearing with a wash of heat.

What the Zimisite?

I played the scene back in my head, watching the interplay between the Adventurer’s mana and the staff. He’d poured water mana into the artifact, activating several runes. The runes themselves were way above my level, even with the books Sigmundr had given me, but as the water mana traveled through the staff it had been morphed into something like water mana, but not. Just like how mana created from a pure Oxygen environment was still air mana, the water mana had gained a different aspect, giving off a much colder feel. When the rod had built up enough of a charge it had struck the snake and things got… weird.

The ice mana had dispersed through the snake in an instant, displacing the mana already there. In fact, the mana had accumulated to the point where I would have expected the snake to hit B rank, but instead ice had manifested, freezing the snake solid. The cold mana, responding to the ENADs intent, left the snake and was absorbed by the artifact. The kid’s tap had somehow, impossibly, turned the mana-less corpse directly into a collection of mana, dissipating into the environment.

That… shouldn’t be possible. Like, really shouldn’t be possible. Sigmundr’s info said mana only rarely interacted with matter, and turning matter into mana wasn’t mentioned anywhere. So I was left with a choice: believe Sigmundr or my eyes.

Sigmundr better have a good explanation.

____________________________________________________________________________

Leeko was shocked to the core. What gave this dungeon the right to attack him?! Dungeons were supposed to obey, to give tribute to their betters. When he returned to his sect, he’d see that this Core was dealt with. The thought came as the dungeon crudely hurled a chest at him, almost hitting the embodiment of perfection itself.

Yes… dealt with.

He beatifically allowed his guards to split the loot, uncaring of whatever piddling trash such a plebian mind could dream up, focusing on the three archways before him. Of course, every other team that had made it this far had missed the markings, he was the only noble on this godforsaken expedition. He briefly considered entering the B ranked area but paused. Botolf, simpleminded idiot that he was, would likely enter this garbage heap calling itself a dungeon to test his mettle or some such nonsense. While the man was a fool, he was a fool with friends; displeasing him by stealing the room’s loot gained him nothing. It wasn’t that he was afraid, just that Botolf would want to fight the mob. Yes…

Leeko snapped back to the present, focusing on the last remaining teleport circle down. There was some minor warning about harming a person’s cultivation, but Leeko knew there was nothing this dungeon had that could harm him. He motioned the others forward, following in their wake. He left the honor of exploration to his inferiors, benevolent leader that he was.

Leeko reached the bottom of the stairwell, door sealing behind him as he scrutinized his surroundings. He was on one side of a wide space, forms clearly illuminated along the far wall. Leeko’s mind flinched at the horror of what his eyes were telling him, the sheer audacity of the dungeon nearly making him cough blood.

Pigs, standing upright with nose rings highlighting the fangs jutting from their lower jaw, armed with all manner of idiotic implements. The world shrank around Leeko as one the pigs uttered an uncultured word from its uncultured mouth, the sheer ignominy of being forced to hear the words breaking something within him.

“Aw pork!”