Building a new floor at the early levels was an arduous task, but one that was well worth the effort. The extra processing power Archimedes would gain just from making his third floor would easily increase his current capabilities by fifty percent. It would also be his largest and/or most complex floor to date, since he would be able to process that much more information.

Archimedes spent a feverish twenty-four hours crafting a magic circle the size of his second floor. Activating it drained nearly all of the mana he had accumulated at once. The mana cost of a new floor was always about 10,000 multiplied by the floor number. In his previous life, the deepest floor Archimedes built cost one hundred million mana. Honestly, at that stage, it wasn’t that costly. The only thing stopping him from building deeper was the complexity of the magic circles that only an S rank dungeon could overcome.

The only way Archimedes could raise his own rank was by raising the ranks of his monsters. The A+ rank void dragon he made in his last life had consumed as many resources as the rest of his dungeon combined. Monsters were true mana sinkholes… except for mandrakes, which paid for themselves and then some. A notable exception.

Archimedes would have loved to pour all his mana into Alphio and Merina to raise their ranks, but he couldn’t. For whatever reason, they refused to grow after leaving the ground. Stuffing them in the dirt didn’t work either. All that had netted him was a dirty, spluttering Alphio who was no stronger than before.

… His thoughts were wandering. Probably because he was dizzy after unleashing such an intense spell. This process was supposed to be gradually performed over a couple of days, but he could brute-force it since he was over-ranked for a two floor dungeon.

The dungeon quaked, and dirt fell away from the bottom of the valley on his second floor, sucked down as if by a grassy whirlpool. Tired and dizzy though he was, Archimedes still took advantage of this malleable moment to shape a spiral staircase and push Deorsa out of the way.

The pit grew, extending down nearly fifty feet before suddenly stopping. A hollow space opened up below, and a short hallway stretched off of it to the north. Archimedes had waived his input on where to put the free room and hall, and so they placed themselves automatically.

Archimedes lowered his core, sinking down from over the valley into the pit below, enduring the waves of nausea from his changing perspective.

The grass and dirt spiral stairs extending down from the second floor stopped at the ceiling of his third floor. To ensure someone like the elf boy, Anther, didn’t break his neck, Archimedes seized some of Deorsa’s roots, using them to reinforce and complete the stairway. As the stairs descended, grass was slowly replaced by wood, until the final few bends were solid root.

“Try closing this and opening it again,” he told the Nymph.

“Yes.”

The sound of creaking wood droned out as Deorsa raised and compressed the stairs, returning them to a normal valley basin. The wooden stairs weren’t part of the original surface and remained hidden beneath, acting as additional support. Then, just as gently, she relaxed her roots and let the stairway open. Archimedes was satisfied with that.

It didn’t count as an illegal blockage if the way was being barred by a monster. If Deorsa was slain, the stairs would collapse, and at least the explorers would be able to use a rope to get down. Rather than that, though, Archimedes intended to have her open the way under certain conditions. He pondered what those would be.

“Ask them a riddle, maybe?” Lilith offered from her home on the second floor.

“Weren’t you upset with me for eavesdropping earlier?”

“I’m bored.”

The dungeon sighed. “It’s a good idea, but I don’t know any riddles. Do any of you?”

He received resounding negatives from all throughout the dungeon.

“I do.”

It was Lilith again.

“There were books full of riddles in my house growing up. I bet I could remember a few dozen. Maybe even think up some more.” She paused. “You left me with the most random memories, I swear.”

“Really? Well, come up with a few and share them with Deorsa later. We’ll have to change them frequently so that the explorers don’t share the answers.”

“Papa!” Thesia called, “How about we make them solve a riddle and leave a riddle? That way, we’ll never run out!”

“A bit optimistic, but I like it. Let’s go with that.”

Finally, Archimedes turned his attention to the messages that popped up when he completed his third floor.

[C rank Dungeon Core Archimedes has created its third floor!]

This was the second time that he’d unlocked a new floor now, and Vow had reached out to him both times. At this rate, he might be disappointed if she stopped.

“Thank you, Vow.”

[You may place one free room. You may place one free corridor.]

[Free placement settings set to default.]

[Please select a free monster model.]

[Deep Gnome (C) | Elder Treant (C) | Sun Moth (C) | Trick Spider (C)]

He was presented with yet another opportunity to pick a free monster blueprint.

Archimedes was aware of Deep Gnomes. He had once encountered an adventurer who kept one as a pet and brought it into his dungeon. They were timid craftsmen; good with their hands. In his opinion, they overlapped too much with Minute. And anyway, he could make them already, since he’d seen one before. Skip.

A Treant was also no good. It would be a few floors before Archimedes would create another fertile cave biome again. The first floor was too small for a Treant, and the nymph wouldn’t tolerate any other rooted plant monsters vying for dominance. They were incompatible. Again, skip.

He could guess what a Sun Moth might be, but whether it produced sunlight or fed on sunlight was a gamble. Moth monsters in general tended to be weak, relying on debuffs that were fairly indiscriminate towards friends and foes. More importantly, his current idea for the third floor was quite incompatible with moths.

That left the Trick Spider. Arachnid monsters in general were strong for their size and clever. They were basically divided into warriors and trappers, and the Trick Spider definitely sounded like the latter. It fit decently well with his current theme and lineup.

Archimedes wanted to avoid asking Vow for advice, since that had hurt her last time, but it seemed like this time he didn’t have to. It was pretty clear-cut.

“W-wait! Wouldn’t the Sun Moths, like, make sunlight for us?” Merina posed. Archimedes sensed desperation and fear.

“Possibly, but the cost of sunlight isn’t much anyway,” he replied.

Realistically, between a moth and a spider of the same rank, the spider should always be superior.

“Besides, this floor is going to be a library. I can’t put moths in a place full of books.”

He felt Merina shiver and swear off ever visiting the third floor.

“Why are you even making a library, anyway?” She muttered.

“I shouldn’t think it’s hard to think of a few reasons,” the dungeon mused. “It will provide plenty of new ways to test our visitors. I can gather more information about the outside world by having outsiders provide me with new books, and some of their authors could be sage candidates. Having a library may even unlock new possibilities for biomes and monster evolutions.”

“What exactly are you trying to do?” Lilith asked, playing with her vase full of decorative metallic flowers. “I get that you want to bring smart people here, but why?”

Up on the first floor, Theoria raised her snout off of her paws. “I’m curious too. You seem to be making a very different dungeon than you did in your previous life.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

Archimedes mentally nodded. He had very obviously left his comfort zone with all of these recent designs, and he had expected his monsters to notice.

“I’ve hinted at it before, but I’ll say it now clearly: I hate being a dungeon. However, the person who gave me this life is someone who I trust, and she insists it’s possible for a dungeon to live a good life. She refuses to explain to me how, and I can’t understand it, so I want someone smarter than I am to explain it to me.”

“Weirdly enough, that’s a relatable goal, I guess.” Lilith sat herself down in a chair and muttered.

“If you cannot find the answer you want,” the usually quiet Minute spoke up, “what will you do next?”

The inhabitants of the dungeon felt a cold wind blowing. “…If it looks like it’s impossible for me to live the fulfilling life I want, I’ll die again and just return to nothingness.”

Archimedes was suicidal. It was merely that he still couldn’t kill himself, and that he still had some trust in Vow’s words.

“Papa no!”

“Wait what?! Archy, you can’t!”

“And destroy all of this…?” Zemnes, the bat muttered in utter incomprehension.

Archimedes sensed Minute attempting to understand the concept of death.

Lilith held her head as she slumped down against her table. “I’m living in a suicidal dungeon. Fuck, this is so messed up.”

“B-but if you die, won’t we all die too?” Merina asked with pale, trembling lips. “Would you really kill all of us just because you’re tired of being a dungeon?”

“Tired of it?” Archimedes focused his attention on the mandrake girl. “Should I root you to the ground right there on that hill and see how soon you ‘get tired’ of watching the world go by around you? How could you possibly wrap your infant mind around my millennia of longing?”

“Don’t be so mean to her,” Theoria snarled, but Archimedes could tell that she was still afraid of the thought of dying. Images flashed in her mind of her wolfbat siblings being killed and of the myriad beasts she saw die in his reminiscing.

“I’m not a nice person,” Archimedes scoffed. “I have witnessed and instigated trillions of lives and deaths. Your existences are nothing but an investment of resources and time to me. As far as I’m concerned, there are only two people in this universe whose demise would affect me in any significant way, and that is myself and Vow.”

For a brief moment, Archimedes felt a slight emotional discomfort, and he realized he had left Anther off of that short list. He steeled his heart, though, and didn’t amend his statement. The boy was still an outsider, after all.

“And which one of Phegmehogal’s whores is Vow?” Lilith asked with a bitter smile and a lazy wave of her hand.

“She’s the ego behind the blue windows you sometimes see.”

Lilith actually looked attentive when she heard that. “Wait, those are sentient? Is she, like, the goddess of statuses or something?”

All things considered, Archimedes knew little about Vow. She seemed to be all-knowing, but had limited ability to use her powers outside of their designated purpose, which was merely to manage the system.

At the very least, he didn’t think she was a goddess. No, he would prefer it if she was a similarly helpless being like himself.

“Ask her yourself.”

Lilith frowned and grumbled. “I’ve only seen, like, five of those windows, ever. As if I can talk to them.” The proto human smiled wryly, “But I’ll bet she’s the only friend you have with that attitude of yours. It’s a miracle you have even one.”

“I bribed you with that house only a day ago and you’re already acting up again,” the dungeon sighed.

Lilith frowned and spoke firmly. “I’m not the one who’s acting up. Look, everyone else is too heartbroken to speak. You just said some really messed up shit to them.”

“Are you standing up for your fellow parasites? Should I compliment you for your admirable character?”

“How about this, asshole. You’ve been whining for a while now about how much it sucks being a dungeon, but what if you’d been reborn as a monster in a dungeon that acted like you do? Do you think that would be pleasant?” She rolled her eyes. “We’re all trapped here, and you’re the only one who has power.”

The proto human stopped talking and stood up. Her nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something bad. “Bitch, are you smiling right now? Is this funny or something?” The dungeon obviously didn’t have a face, but Lilith somehow got that impression from it.

“My answer is that it would be a short but enjoyable life, being a parasite instead of the host.”

“How can you—”

“Of course I can say that! I’ve lived their lives through their thoughts and senses. Countless times! It’s not my ideal life—I would rather be free and outside—but I would choose that over my current state.”

“I don’t think you really get—”

“Answer me this. Which is better? Remembering what a dessert tasted like, or tasting it again? Is the memory of the flavor of food enough when you’re hungry? I find your way of thinking and your resistance toward me novel, but I do know what’s going on in your head. You won’t be able to change my mind at that level. I knew your argument before you even said it. If you had to voice it anyway, then it obviously wasn’t sufficient.”

“You’re a—”

“‘Selfish omniscient asshole.’ Acknowledged. Can this conversation be done now?”

Archimedes was suddenly overwhelmed by nausea as a cool, gelatinous body pressed up against, and slightly moved, his core.

“Thesia, stop. Bad. Don’t push.”

“Papa…” the slime cooed mournfully. “Don’t… I love you, papa. Don’t say things like that. Please…?”

“I meant what I said, now get off.”

Contrarily, the purple slime just lumped more of her mass against his crystalline body.

“No. You’re just in a bad mood ‘cause you were thinking about bad memories. Think about better things and cheer up, papa.”

As a dungeon monster, Thesia was incapable of harming Archimedes, but the discomfort he experienced from motion wasn’t counted as “harm” by the system. The slime’s weight gradually pushed him down onto the floor of his third level, and he was encased in violet ooze.

“If you want to die, then why did you make me? I’m not from outside like Lilith. I shouldn’t have much value. Why did you make me love you? Why did you make a slime that would come and cheer you up when you’re feeling sad? Why did you only make nice monsters if you didn’t want to be our friend? If I’m just a parasite, why did you make me so that I would think of you like a father?”

Archimedes suddenly felt very uncomfortable because he couldn’t answer those questions. He tried to brush her off.

“You’re saying absurd things.”

“I don’t think so? I think, just like you can look into our minds and know more about us than we do about ourselves, I think you don’t know everything about yourself either. I think, secretly, you want people to care about you.”

“I don’t need recognition from my own creations.”

“But you do want someone to care about you? We can do that. You made us so we could. If you just treat us like people, everything would be fine, right? Aren’t all children born of their parents? What makes us different?”

Archimedes felt nauseous and it wasn’t because of motion sickness. What was this? Why did he make Thesia the way she was? Did he want her to say these sorts of things to him? He could erase her. She was rebelling, so why not just get rid of her?

“You’re lonely, papa. Everybody gets lonely. Making company for yourself isn’t wrong. You don’t have to be ashamed of us.”

Archimedes telepathically pulled the huge slime off of his core. She dangled, helpless but calm, in the air. “If that were true, then you’d have said all of this because I made you to do so. In that case, not only would it just be pathetic, but it would mean you’ve no free will, nothing you say is genuine, and I’d have even less reason to see you as a person. You’d be an expression of my own psychosis.”

“Hm… nope. I disagree. But I get it now, papa. You just don’t know where you end and we start. You’re scared and embarrassed thinking you might secretly be controlling us. You can’t tell because you’re always in our heads, unlike the outsiders who come and go. When they’re in here, you know all of their thoughts too, right? Well, I went outside before, so I know I’m an independent person. You may know me inside out and can predict what I’ll do, but you’re not making me do it.”

Thesia giggled and stretched her body toward the ground. Archimedes allowed her to slip free of his telekinesis. He knew she thought she was getting somewhere in this debate, and it was lifting her mood. He… surprisingly wasn’t feeling worse than before, at least.

“… You want me to accept you as people so that I can accept your help and acknowledgement? Is that an adequate summary?”

“Yep!” Thesia snuggled up around his core in something like a hug. “Do you need anything else from us besides proving our free will?”

He considered it carefully. The fact that he was even thinking about breaking from his millennia-long philosophy sort of made it seem like his old way of thinking would ultimately be proven to be flawed, but a large part of him still wanted to cling to it.

“Then…” He would tell her to do something only a person could do. It would be hard or even impossible for a dungeon monster, but he would let her try. If, someday, she succeeded, then that would be that, right?

So what was something only a person could do? Archimedes pondered and thought.

…But, he couldn’t think of anything.

What even was the difference between a sentient dungeon monster with free will and mobility and a person? If having a psychic connection with a creator force disqualified them, then the religious humans back on Rachon couldn’t have been people either, yet he had always viewed them as such. Why was this just now occurring to him?

“Vow,” he asked, keeping his voice from his creations. “Is a dungeon monster a person?”

The faded window that appeared in front of him was written in stiff language.