The moment Mechalon noticed Angelica’s gaze lingering a bit too long, the realization struck like a bolt of lightning. She had seen it. Not just looked, but really seen. And when the party hustled out of the room, glancing back over their shoulders, Mechalon’s mechanical mind started whirring with worry.

They know.

A dreadful sense of exposure flooded through Mechalon’s circuits. If word got out, if the adventurers spread tales of a Level 5, named Cubling, everything it had built would be under threat. The tiny Cublings it had nurtured and trained, the towers it had designed so carefully—its entire existence could be dismantled. They’d come with their weapons and spells, tearing it all down brick by brick.

No, no, no! I can’t let that happen.

It scuttled back and forth, its appendages tapping a frantic beat against the cold dungeon floor as a steady stream of plans flooded its mind. Each one grew increasingly convoluted, but it was willing to entertain them all if it meant protecting itself and its Cublings.

First idea: Tunnel collapse.

It could dismantle part of the ceiling in the main hallway leading to the room, setting a makeshift trap. The moment someone tried to barge in again, a flood of broken stone and heavy cubes would drop down, blocking their path and potentially causing a good amount of injury. But… then they’d just dig through, wouldn’t they? And next time, they’d probably bring tools, making the barrier useless.

Alright, onto the next idea: Cubling Mimics.

It could outfit some of the Cublings with spikes and reinforce their outer shells. Make them look even more cube-like, more innocent—until someone got close enough, only to find a jagged metal spike pointing straight at them. It grinned at the thought, and yet… it shook its head. Adventurers were notoriously skilled at sensing danger, and the minute one of the Cublings attacked, they’d go on high alert. Nope, not stealthy enough.

Another idea blossomed in its mind: Poison fog.

It could rig up some kind of gas chamber within the walls, mixing various dungeon elements into a noxious vapor that would seep out at the first sign of intruders. But it quickly realized it didn’t actually have any poisonous components on hand, nor did it know the formula for such a substance. Not yet, anyway, it noted to itself with a tinge of frustration.

It stopped and assessed the room, its paranoia fueling a desperate sense of innovation. What if… What if I make the room endless? Yes, an infinite loop of corridors, carefully designed to keep intruders wandering in circles. It could rearrange the layout constantly, creating shifting walls and passages. But, alas, it didn’t actually have the resources or abilities for such a complicated architectural nightmare. That would take more power and control than it currently had.

One more idea flickered into place, sending a chill through its circuits: Self-destruct. If it sensed an intruder too close, too threatening, it could set off some explosive fail-safe, sacrificing the room—and itself—to keep its secrets safe. But it brushed that thought aside almost immediately. It wasn’t ready to give up everything it had worked for. Not yet. It still had plans, ideas, so much left to create and shape.

Mechalon paused, forcing itself to calm. There was no point in throwing itself into a frenzy. It still had time to plan and prepare. What it needed was a solution that would keep the adventurers away without outright fighting them. And then the answer struck it: distraction and redirection.

It began forming a scheme, intricate yet doable. It would construct a series of raps leading off from the main pathway, enough to fill an adventurer’s mind with paranoia. False floors that didn’t actually collapse, but seemed precarious. Shadows that moved in the low light as though someone, or something, was watching from the dark. And at the end of this series of tricks, it would lead them to a room with shiny “treasures”, carefully crafted cubes that appeared valuable but would dissolve into worthless dust upon inspection.

It clacked its limbs excitedly. If the adventurers spent their time searching these false traps and hidden passageways, maybe, just maybe, they’d leave its real sanctuary alone. It could shield its true center of operations, hiding the heart of its work deep within the labyrinth it planned to construct. Then, if they ever came close to uncovering its secrets, they’d find only trickery and dead ends. And that would give it more than enough time to prepare.

Yes, it would need to act quickly, but Mechalon was already calculating exactly how to do it. The image of adventurers scouring every nook and cranny only to find worthless dust brought a quiet satisfaction to its processor. In a way, this plan suited it. After all, it was a craftsman of cubes, not of conflict.

With renewed determination, Mechalon clicked its limbs together in a pattern it found quite satisfying.

To execute the plan in full, Mechalon realized with a strange surge of excitement—and dread—that it would need to do something it had never done before: leave the confines of its lair. It had spent countless cycles perfecting this space, crafting every corner, trap, and creation to fit its vision of order. But to protect that vision, it had to push beyond these walls. To safeguard everything it had made, it would need to take control of the dungeon’s outer corridors and build a whole system of deception around its heart.

This would mean relying on the dungeon’s mysterious auto-maintenance mechanisms. Mechalon had observed how the dungeon’s traps reset on their own outside its lair; spikes would pop back up, pits would close. Even the chest it placed would often disappear, reappearing later as if nothing had happened. The towers it had recently built could reset too—at least theoretically—but those were within its direct control, more fail-safe than automatic maintenance. It didn’t know exactly how this dungeon-keeping system worked, but perhaps it could mimic or manipulate it if it began subtly.

Creeping towards the mouth of its lair, Mechalon peered out into the stone corridor beyond. This particular hallway was dark and unassuming, with dust collecting in cracks and an eerie stillness that made the stones feel cold and old. But it saw possibility here. Metal, it mused, eyeing the walls thoughtfully. More metal.

Yes, metal. It would slowly replace the corridor’s walls and floor, extending the same silvery, reflective material it used within its lair. With metal-lined walls and floors, it could better control visibility, shadows, and sound. Plus, the metal would allow it to conceal hidden compartments, secret paths, and even the subtle machinery it was considering.

The first step would be subtle—just a gradual shift, placing panels in dark corners, adding texture to the stones where the adventurers were less likely to notice until the change was almost complete. Mechalon could start by adding this material to the first corridor section outside its lair, as well as a concealed passage branching off from the main hall. This hidden route would be more than just a detour; it would act as a buffer zone, leading adventurers in a loop if they went the wrong way while giving it time to study and track their movements.

And once it had tested the corridors with these first changes, it would expand the metal further, creating an intricate maze to keep intruders away from its lair entirely. But it needed this initial branch, a subtle sidestep from the main corridor, to divert attention.

Slow, steady, and deliberate. Mechalon began mentally cataloging its current resources. The Cublings would be helpful here, especially Fort. With Fort’s newfound durability, it could handle the heavier metal panels that would eventually line the walls. Strat could scout ahead, signaling if anyone approached as Mechalon worked, and Vel, with its keen sense for the structure, could help detect any dungeon traps that might conflict with its alterations.

For now, it would keep these plans as quiet as the metal itself. It would extend this slow creep of silver down the hallways, and only once it was sure of its control would it reveal a new corridor leading around its lair. The beauty of this setup was that it could expand outward, little by little, claiming more ground until its protective maze enveloped the entire dungeon level. If done right, anyone foolish enough to enter its territory would get lost in an endless labyrinth of cold metal and mirrored surfaces.

If it wanted to build this maze, it would need a secure stash for materials—a true hidden warehouse, tucked safely away so that it wouldn’t fall victim to the mindless recycling instincts of the other Cublings. Anything that wasn’t welded down or actively guarded was always at risk of being tossed straight into the furnace by its industrious but somewhat oblivious helpers. The thought made Mechalon twitch. It needed a personal storage zone for its expansion supplies, and a secret crafting area where it could refine raw materials without interference.

First things first, though… tools.

Mechalon skimmed its gaze over the scattered scraps, mentally sorting through each piece with surprising clarity. It could use the impurities in the metal—a byproduct it had previously dismissed—to create stronger components. Though it couldn’t fully refine metal with its current abilities, it had a plan to carefully extract the impurities and fuse them together, crafting tools that were durable enough for its expanding ambitions. And with the right tools, it could start digging into the wall to carve out its hidden workshop, as well as fashion new constructs to aid in the dungeon’s alteration.

Mechalon pondered its next step carefully, focusing on the task at hand. It needed a tool, a proper tool. Its mind raced as it processed its options, each idea fitting together like a puzzle piece. The creation of the tool, it dubbed “Crackline Carver”, would be as elegant as any other structure it had made so far. Efficiency was key. Simplicity was paramount. Nothing too flashy. It was a tool meant for precision, not for grandeur.

The shape of the Crackline Carver would have to mirror the cube's ideal: sharp, direct, and with a mechanical design that could be understood in its simplest form. No complicated electricity or energy sources to depend on—just mechanical ingenuity, pieces that fit together in the most practical manner possible. Mechalon’s mind buzzed, and it set to work.

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First, it focused on the blade. It didn’t need anything too grand. The blade would be a thin, sharp edge, something that could slice through stone like butter, but with a cube’s attitude of purpose. The blade would be formed of a flat piece of scrap metal. Scrap, oh, how it loved the word. It was pure, untainted material, just waiting for a new purpose. Mechalon mentally gathered the pieces, visualizing how they would come together: an almost triangular shape for the tip, sharp but not too aggressive—just enough to initiate a cut.

But it would need a cubic mechanism to press the blade against the stone. Mechalon thought through its options. A spring mechanism might be too unpredictable; a lever, too prone to wear. No, it needed gears, something that would apply an even pressure, something durable, and something that fit within its domain of simplicity. Gears would be steady and reliable—perfect.

Gears. The word reverberated through Mechalon’s thoughts like a tuning fork. They could be created from the same scrap metal, crafted into tiny cubes that meshed together in perfect synchronicity. It could use a combination of larger and smaller gears to create a controlled rotation—small ones to guide the motion, and large ones to provide the torque needed to keep the blade pressing into the stone with the right amount of force.

The gears would have to rotate against each other in a way that pushed the blade forward, without any unnecessary movements. This meant a precise gearbox. A small, simple box made of scrap metal, hollowed out with a cubic frame. Inside the box, the gears would sit snugly, their teeth catching each other as they rotated in a fixed motion. The action of turning would cause the blade to move incrementally forward into the stone. The gears wouldn’t spin continuously but instead engage in a series of small, controlled increments.

Next, the mechanism needed to apply that pressure to the stone. It wouldn’t be fast or wild; it would be slow and deliberate. Mechalon considered a slider mechanism for this, something it had seen in the movements of its own limbs. The Cublings’ legs, with their smooth, slidable joints, were a model of efficiency. If those legs could slide so gracefully across surfaces, why not use that same concept to apply pressure to the blade?

It would need a slider rail system. Each leg of the Crackline Carver would have a piece that extended outward, with a flat, sliding foot at the end. These legs, when activated, would press firmly into the stone, ensuring that the blade was in perfect alignment as it slowly scraped forward. A rail attached to the blade’s backside would keep it moving forward and backward along a single path, ensuring that no errant movements veered off course.

Mechalon set about gathering the necessary parts. It used the remnants of old frames, discarded slabs of metal, and a collection of smaller cubes it had hoarded for just such a moment. The pieces came together slowly, methodically. It welded the small gears in place, ensuring their teeth meshed perfectly. With each step, the puzzle clicked into place, everything aligned with its logical understanding of function. The tool had to be functional. Not flashy. Not delicate. Efficient.

The blades were attached first. Flat pieces of scrap metal, lightly sharpened, then welded together into a triangular tip. Mechalon worked carefully, ensuring that each joint and seam was perfect, its welding was rudimentary but precise. Next came the slider mechanism: pieces of scrap with smooth surfaces that could easily slide against the stone without obstruction. Each slider foot was designed with a small lip, ensuring that when the gears turned, the foot would press against the stone with consistent force.

The final component was the gearbox. It was small, compact, fitting neatly into the center of the machine, housing the rotating gears. Mechalon had to be particularly careful with the gears’ arrangement: they needed to rotate at different speeds to ensure a smooth, controlled forward motion, pushing the blade deeper into the stone with each turn.

Finally, with everything assembled, Mechalon took a step back, its faceless form scanning the completed tool. The Crackline Carver. Simple. Efficient. And, most importantly, working exactly as it needed to. The test would be in the action.

Mechalon set the Carver against a section of the wall, aligning it with the stone. Then it activated the slider mechanism, moving the footpads slowly into place. The gears turned, and with a satisfying click, the blade slowly began to push into the stone. It wasn’t fast. No, it wasn’t meant to be. But with each gear rotation, the blade sank a little deeper, and Mechalon watched in satisfaction as the first layer of stone was scraped away.

Its hidden warehouse could also double as a staging area for the resources it’d need to expand outward. More than just a place to stash metal, it envisioned a secret forge space, a kind of hideaway where it could experiment with new constructs without worrying about interruptions. It imagined rows of gleaming metal blocks lined up inside, neatly organized and safe, away from prying eyes. And perhaps it could hide spare limbs and attachments here, ready to be swapped in should it need them for a particular task.

Mechalon stood silently, watching as Fort, the newly upgraded Tank Cube, worked the Crackline Carver with precision. It had been a decision made with logic—Fort’s strength far surpassed Mechalon’s own when it came to turning the heavy gears. The sturdy limbs of Fort were perfect for applying the force needed to operate the Carver, turning it with ease as the machine slowly ate into the stone. Mechalon, however, remained focused on its larger, more pressing task: expansion.

It wasn’t the best at making the Carver work, and it knew it. Operating the gear-driven machine with its spider-like legs was cumbersome at best. Its limbs lacked the strength needed for smooth, consistent pressure on the gears, which meant the Carver would have to be operated by one of the Cublings. Fort, as it turned out, was the perfect candidate for this. It was resilient and steadfast, a natural fit for the task. Mechalon allowed it to take over the work, leaving its own efforts for later. There was more to think about, more to plan, and expansion was the first priority.

Mechalon’s thoughts shifted from the Carver to the bigger picture: the dungeon itself. Its mind churned through the possibilities, weighing its options with careful consideration. The corridors outside its lair—those were the starting points. The dungeon was both a maze and a trap, but Mechalon had only seen the two corridors beyond its immediate space. One of them, it assumed, led to the entrance where the goblins were, and the other most likely led towards the boss room, that dangerous unknown it had avoided. Expanding outward, that was the key. But where should it go first?

It couldn’t expand upwards. That was a simple fact it already knew—there had once been a skylight above its lair. A hole in the ceiling. That had been a weakness in the dungeon’s design, and it made expanding upward a foolish idea. If the adventurers had seen that opening, they would have known where to go. They could have gotten in easily, and Mechalon wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Upwards was a no-go.

Instead, Mechalon focused on what was beneath it—outwards and downwards. The idea of expanding downward held promise, but it would have to be handled with caution. Digging further into the underground could open up more ways to control the dungeon’s environment. However, it had no way of knowing exactly what lay beneath, and it wasn’t about to risk destabilizing the ground around its lair. Too many unknowns. No, downward was a possibility—but not the first option.

Expanding outward made the most sense. Mechalon had already mapped out the general direction of the corridors from its previous observations, but now it could get to work on improving them, enhancing the paths for its own purposes. If it expanded outward towards the goblins’ area, it would have more control over the dungeon’s access points, funneling the adventurers into a more predictable path. The goblins were already an early threat for any adventurers entering, but if Mechalon could reinforce that part of the dungeon and add more layers of complexity, it would force the adventurers to be more cautious. The goblins might not be much of a threat on their own, but they provided a distraction, a buffer that could slow down the more capable adventurers.

At the same time, Mechalon could be building obstacles and traps as it went. The more the adventurers wandered through this labyrinthine dungeon, the more disoriented they would become. The Cublings could serve as both minions and guardians, assisting in this task, fortifying key areas with additional layers of defense. The more it expanded outward towards the goblins, the more it could reinforce its lair, keeping it hidden and difficult to access. The adventurers might eventually stumble across it, but it wouldn’t be an easy task to reach.

However, that wasn’t the only possible direction to take. Expanding toward the boss room could work in Mechalon’s favor too. That area was already a point of interest, and it could turn that interest into a more convoluted route. The adventurers wouldn’t expect a dungeon to grow around them, and if Mechalon began fortifying the way to the boss room, it could give them even more pause. It would force them to think twice before advancing too far.

The expansion would need to be slow, though. Mechalon couldn’t afford to rush. It needed time to design, to craft the traps, to lay down the foundations before the adventurers realized what was happening. The dungeon’s layout had to change gradually, naturally, so it wouldn’t draw attention too quickly. Perhaps a hidden new corridor, a false entrance to nowhere, would be a good place to start. It could slowly shift the dungeon’s flow without alarming anyone too early.

Scrap metal would be key to this expansion. Mechalon could build, fortify, and reconfigure with ease thanks to the endless supply of discarded materials lying all around. Metal walls, metal floors, and even metal ceilings could be molded into place, creating a new system of passageways that expanded outwards. Every time it laid down a section of new floor or wall, it could make the dungeon a little more complicated, a little harder for the adventurers to navigate. The materials could be melted and recast as needed, and it could construct hidden rooms, chambers meant to store anything important, materials or equipment it didn’t want discovered.

Mechalon's mind raced through the possibilities. It could also use the Crackline Carver to dig into the stone around the area and start creating tunnels. Those tunnels could stretch out into new areas, or perhaps just serve as dead ends—false pathways meant to mislead the adventurers into wasting time. It would be able to control the dungeon’s flow, slow the adventurers down, and keep them off the trail of its lair.

It felt more in control of the dungeon than ever before. It was starting to understand how the pieces fit together. The adventurers, the goblins, the dungeons, the paths—it was all a puzzle, and Mechalon was learning how to manipulate it, slowly but surely. It would expand its influence, tighten its grip, and make sure that it was always a step ahead. Now the question was: How far should it go before stopping?

Mechalon thought about that for a moment. Expanding too quickly might expose it too soon, but a slow, steady expansion would build the dungeon into a far more formidable place. The longer it stayed hidden, the more time it had to prepare. But time was ticking. It couldn’t afford to wait forever. The adventurers would grow bolder the longer they were in the dungeon, and Mechalon knew it needed to act quickly.

As it was about to gather scrap a new window appeared in front of it, the biggest one it had ever seen and it looked at it in awe for a moment before reading it.

Achievement Unlocked: Dungeon Mastermind

Congratulations, Mechalon. Your understanding of the dungeon's structure has evolved. With your insightful plans to expand, fortify, and refine, you are taking significant strides toward controlling the very environment that surrounds you. As the architect of this domain, you have chosen your path—slow, deliberate, and methodical. Expansion is now within your grasp, and the dungeon is yours to shape.

New Objective: Begin Dungeon Expansion

* Expand Corridors: Outward and downward, to create paths that lead to new areas. Mislead adventurers with false routes, and guide them to where you deem fit.

* Use Scrap Metal Efficiently: Forge new walls, floors, and ceilings. Hide your creations where the adventurers will least expect them.

* Control the Flow: Redirect adventurer progress by shifting paths, opening new areas, and reinforcing key locations. Avoid detection.

Additional Notes:

Your plans are audacious but practical. You have identified key objectives to ensure your survival: fortifying your lair, managing the flow of adventurers, and employing your Cublings in the most efficient way possible. These steps will not only ensure your continued existence but enhance your control over the dungeon. Your success depends on your ability to execute these plans with patience and foresight.

Reminder: You have limited resources, but your ingenuity will make the difference. Use them wisely.

Next step: The clock is ticking. Let the expansion begin.

Reward:

Current Progression: 0/100

Tier 1 Reward Unlocked: Graduation! Congrats you have gained the designator: Mysterious Custodian.

Much like a boss has a designator in the dungeon you too are now The Mysterious Custodian Mechalon! This comes with certain power, and responsibility. +1 Permanent bonus to all ability scores.