CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: FINAL DUNGEON DRAFT
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"My plan is to have a jump scare right here", Dunstan said pointing at an intersection on the projection between them. "Nothing too major this time, just a spectre leaping out of a painting to attack anyone passing too close."
The Sixth Preceptor followed along with a small nod, his eyes never leaving the dungeon simulation.
This was another function that Dunstan had discovered. Fun fact: He didn't need to be in the dungeon space to effect changes on his dungeon. He could bring up a holographic simulation using the interface and do his dungeon building from the comfort of a plush seat in the real world. Having tried both, Dunstan would freely admit that the full immersion was much better for actual dungeon building but the holograph had its own charm. He wouldn't have been able to show his work to the old man otherwise.
The holographic map showed a detailed representation of the terrain and contents of his dungeon with every room, fixture, and monster clearly marked in a startlingly detailed grid system. Dunstan could click on any asset and be given options that let him further customise them. He could change the appearance, loot table, set behaviours and dungeon position. Everything came in neat colour codes and drop-down menus that made it easy to identify and work on his assets as well as show them to others. Others couldn't affect the map but they could see it and provide helpful input.
Currently, the young sect master and his predecessor were standing over a table in the Sun Facing Tower with the dungeon simulation projected over a table as they strategised. Or rather, Dunstan revealed his preparations and asked for the more experienced man's opinion so he could optimise them better.
He would point to different locations on the map, explaining his reasoning for his designs and choices. The former sect master listened attentively, occasionally nodding in agreement or asking questions for clarification. The aged cultivator found he had little to add. He didn't have the knowledge that Dunstan had gleaned from his past life. He couldn't view things through the lens of an 'MMO game designer' whatever that was. The best he could do was provide insight into how the other sects and their elders were likely to react to the features of the mystic realm.
However, to his successor, this was plenty. With the information provided, he could better tailor his dungeon to meet their expectations and streamline things to grant the best experience. There's a lot of background game knowledge that people especially game designers tended to take for granted. Take, for example, red containers in games. Anyone with even a casual knowledge of games knew that red barrels explode but for someone without that experience, that would be an unpleasant and unexpected event. With the Sixth Preceptor's input, Dunstan found himself engaging in more environmental storytelling than he first started out with just so he could set the tone and hopefully provide background tutorials that would guide his victims in later scenarios.
"Now", Dunstan began with an ill-concealed smile when they reached the final monster. "This one I am very proud of."
Name: Mylos "Swordsong" Mirthtree
Race: Wight | Caste: Boss
Class: None | Tier: 1 * | Lvl: 8
Title: Sword Saint | Grade: Rare/ Blue
Parameters
* Vitality: D (C) | Mana: C | Strength: A
* Intellect: B | Endurance: A | Resistance: C
* Agility: A | Perception: C
Skills
* Life Drain | Green
* Raise the Dead | Green
* Frost of the Underworld | Blue
* Command Lesser Undead | Green
* Mirthtree Sword Arts | Blue
* Sword Song | Blue
The young sect master had every right to be proud. Six skills, three of which were of blue rarity. This boss took nine tries to get right. He spent more AP than he cared to admit simply synthesising the materials required. Upgrading the uncommon grade [Chilling Touch] to the rare [Frost of the Underworld] required yin crystals from his family vault but the sword skills had required dungeon store purchases to substantially differentiate them from the sect techniques he used as their foundation. And would you know it, each attempt at synthesis costs AP.
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That part Dunstan didn't-- refused to understand. The dungeon Maker was his innate ability. Why then did he have to pay to use his own abilities? Where was the logic in that? Regrettably, there was no arguing with his interface. The price had to be paid. Thankfully, the results were worth it.
"I am impressed", the Sixth Preceptor said looking over the holograph.
"A mystic realm designed as a trial ground for an ancient sect. You actually did it. A talented mortal who missed out on the chance to cultivate and succumbed to the inexorable march of time and the ravenous clutches of mortality. That fear everyone knows but no one wishes to acknowledge; the fate of those who never make it to the next tier of transcendence.
"The snapping at our heels that we pretend not to hear. The cold breath of the reaper on the nape of our necks that we choose to ignore. That silent figure waiting patiently in the glossed-over periphery to remind us that no matter our power and accomplishments, none escape the harvest scythe. All that live must surely die and who die will eventually be forgotten! All our power will come to nought. All our great deeds will be buried by time and all our hard-won and favoured possessions left behind like the dust under our feet."
The man's voice trailed off to a soft contemplative murmur that made Dunstan uncomfortably self-conscious. He really should have thought that through. The Preceptor was ancient. If he failed to break through soon his longevity would run out and he would die just like Mylos. He wasn't the only one. Nearly all the Great Elders were in similar straits. The Preceptor had taken it well but what of the others? When he first came up with that death omen, he never intended it to cause friendly fire.
"When you first came to me with your idea, I had no idea it would be so promising or complicated", he confessed. "The themes, the creature encounters and possible rewards. I did not expect, this", he said, waving his hand over the holograph. "It is a great stroke of fortune for our sect that we can count you in our number which is why I must ask..."
"Are you truly prepared for what is to come?"
Dunstan's mouth snapped shut. He knew what the old man was asking. "Yes!" he said with as much seriousness as he could muster. The situation called for it.
"Are you sure?" The preceptor asked again. "This dungeon of yours will be consigning many to their deaths."
Dunstan let out a long deep breath. "Yes, I am", he answered. "I am prepared to do anything to help the sect survive."
"This is not about the sect", the old man asserted. "This is about you. It is a differen--"
"It doesn't matter how you ask the question. The answer is always yes!" Dunstan asserted with marked resolve, cutting off the preceptor before he could complete his words.
The old man gave him a long searching stare that seemed to plumb the deepest corners of his soul but in the end, he gave Dunstan a satisfied nod and let the matter rest.
The young sect master had thought long and hard about this, rationalised this every which way. People died all the time. Even if his dungeon did not exist, cultivators would find some other danger to throw themselves into. 'Birds die for grain' as the saying goes. Like coal miners, these people knew the risks but they did it every day. His venture would be nothing different. With the measures he had taken, deaths should be uncommon in his dungeon. He had done the math. He would earn more from constant reliable traffic and readmission than one-time sales from soon-to-be dead cultivators. However, even that sounded like farming people albeit with extra steps.
He could dress it up however he liked, it didn't change the facts. Dunstan knew himself. If it came down to it, he could watch all those people walk into the maw of a daemon and do nothing. In fact, to save his sect, he would willingly take up his sword and butcher them personally and not lose any sleep over it. If anything, the self-reflection this brought on only led to a period of self-affirmation that polished his intent and made him more certain of his plans.
The Sixth Preceptor did not judge. He more than anyone else in the sect knew what Dunstan's seat felt like and the tough decisions it required of its occupant. He was merely making sure the boy was ready to handle it.
"I will speak to some of the other elders", he informed the youth. "They might have some good ideas. Best we squeeze this thing for all its worth.
"Well, there is one other idea", Dunstan said with some hesitation. "It promises a lot of returns for our investment but I am not certain we should go that route. It is... questionable."
"More than luring cultivators to their possible deaths", Alshiram asked with some surprise.
"It is something I gleaned from my memories of my past life", Dunstan revealed. "If we implement it right then our profit margins will jump, maybe even quadruple and I am not just talking about the points I need for my dungeon economy, but profit to the sect as a whole. However, even in my past life, such tactics were considered low and despicable. Many considered them a regrettable cost of the business but only few honestly liked them."
The Sixth Preceptor laughed. "I'm surprised some underhanded business tactics can give you pause after what we've already discussed."
"I'm sure you'll feel the same once you know", Dunstan insisted before explaining what this new profit-making venture entailed.
His predecessor sat back, rubbing his long wizardly beard in thought. "Any other catch?
"If we implement this wrongly, we will gain a tremendous amount of ill will. We stand to alienate the very...", he started saying.
"Then we just have to get it right the first time!"
Dunstan looked at the former sect master with shock in his eyes. The man hadn't even let him finish. He had thought the Sixth Preceptor with all his talk of the sect's place, glory and honour would be the last to condone such tactics. Dunstan's mental image of the righteous sect leader with an unbending adamantine rod for a spine collapsed. After all his own gripping about ethics, he learned a new fact. This old man is not a decent person.