Viktor found himself in the only chamber on the second floor. It was cramped and bare, devoid of any furnishings or decoration. If someone wished to sit, they would have to make do with the cold, hard stone beneath their feet. There was nothing here, save for a glowing crystal floating in the middle of the room.

  [Welcome back, Master.]

  The Dungeon Core greeted him in a monotonous tone, flat and lifeless. Even though the voice resembled that of a human female, there was no emotion behind those hollow words, as if they were uttered by an entity incapable of understanding human feeling.

  He returned the greeting with a nod. “How are you doing, Celeste?”

  [Everything is going smoothly, Master. I have created the tunnels as you instructed. The goblins have tested them, and I am refining the size for optimization.]

  “Good,” Viktor said. It seemed the final adjustments to the dungeon had been completed.

  The first floor was not just a maze; it also had an additional twist. He had ordered Celeste, his Dungeon Core, to create small, hidden tunnels everywhere: in the walls, on the floor, and in the ceiling. Their purpose was to allow his minions to outmaneuver the adventurers. They could retreat when the fight was not in their favor, disappearing into the secret passages, and then launch surprise attacks from behind when the enemies were least prepared.

  The tunnels were well hidden, and constructed too narrow for a human-sized intruder to utilize. This ensured that even if they were discovered, they could not be used against him. On the other hand, his small-sized minions could traverse them with ease. He had only goblins now, but he would add spiders or snakes later.

  There was one problem, though. The enemies would surely attempt to destroy the tunnels. He doubted that it would be very effective, but they would definitely try. Any damage to the dungeon had to be repaired with mana, and he was quite tight on resources at the moment.

  “Show me your stats, Celeste,” Viktor asked.

  [Yes, Master.]

  He started out with 1,000 mana, but he had spent most of it building the first floor and summoning the goblins. Now, there was only one thing left to do with the remaining resources.

  “Transmute Gold!” Viktor ordered the Dungeon Core.

  The moment he uttered the command, a dazzling light erupted before him. It flared for but a heartbeat, then fell away almost instantly, revealing a small coffer lying on the ground. He knelt down and lifted the lid of the box, uncovering a trove of glittering gold.

  “About one hundred coins, I guess.”

  It seemed the conversion rate was roughly two gold for every point of mana. For a man who had once ruled an empire, this amount of money was little more than pocket change. But if Claire ever saw this, she would definitely have a heart attack.

  No one was stupid enough to risk their life for nothing. To lure the adventurers into his little game, offering rewards from time to time was just as important as designing deadly traps. After all, one needed good bait in order to catch a lot of fish. Yes, they were fish. Food that his dungeon would consume so that it could grow.

  In this world, there were two types of dungeons: an “instant” type and a “growing” type.

  The “instant” dungeons were ones that appeared in places rich in mana, typically at sites where mana leaked into the world from the Ethereal Sea. These dungeons would hungrily absorb all of the mana in the area and swell into enormous labyrinths almost instantly.

  Needless to say, mages absolutely loathed this type of dungeon. To them, these were blights that diluted the amount of mana available in the world. Thus, as soon as an “instant” dungeon manifested, everyone banded together to invade and destroy it.

  The “growing” dungeons, on the other hand, didn’t consume mana from their surroundings. Instead, they generated it. Whenever a human died inside a dungeon, their soul, essence, or whatever one wanted to call it, would be consumed and converted into mana for the dungeon to use.

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  But it wasn’t just any human who could fuel a “growing” dungeon. It had to be someone with a certain level of “prowess.” A warrior or a mage, for example. Someone with a “strong” soul, whatever that meant. Marching a thousand commoners into a dungeon and sacrificing them wouldn’t do much in terms of feeding the dungeon.

  No one knew the exact mechanics behind it, but that was how dungeons worked. People speculated that these labyrinths were creations of the Forgotten Gods, beings whose powers and motives were beyond human comprehension. If that were the case, trying to understand the reason was just a waste of time.

  Unlike the first type, the “growing” dungeon was loved by everyone. Someone had to die for it to work, yes, but there were always winners and losers in every aspect of life. Adventurers rushed in for the promise of wealth and glory. Many perished in the process, but others emerged with hefty rewards. If one was lucky, he could go from beggar to lord overnight.

  Overall, a dungeon was a net positive for the economy of the region. It was said that the power of a kingdom was determined by the number of dungeons within its borders, so it was no surprise that kingdoms fought fiercely for control of these underground labyrinths.

  The thing about dungeons was that one didn’t even need to physically occupy the land in order to take over them. A king could simply send in his most powerful agents, seize the Dungeon Core, and then recreate a new dungeon somewhere else. The old dungeon would gradually diminish into nothing but a hollow, abandoned cave. With a single move, he crippled his rival while empowering himself at the same time.

  That was what Viktor had done multiple times during his conquests. Those who defied him were severely punished, and not only did he leave their kingdoms in ruins, but he also took away their dungeons, stripping them of their most valuable assets. He didn’t even use those Dungeon Cores himself. Instead, he displayed them as trophies to decorate his throne room, a testament to his victories and a warning to anyone who dared to oppose him.

  And he didn’t just take away existing dungeons. He also decreed that whenever a new dungeon appeared in one of the punished regions, its Core must be brought to him at once, which was why he had such an underdeveloped Dungeon Core in the first place. Ironically, it was now the only thing he had, and his whole plan had to rely on it.

  Viktor’s attention returned to the crystal hovering beside him, the Core he had named Celeste. He wondered what was truly contained within this fragile-looking vessel.

  It was said that Dungeon Cores held human souls. Those who believed that dungeons were creations of the Forgotten Gods also thought that the Cores were made by infusing human souls into them, resulting in a dungeon that could think and manage itself.

  He didn’t know how much truth there was to that. While he could certainly converse with Celeste, its tone was indifferent and monotonous, showing little concern for anything other than its own growth. It definitely did not care about the adventurers who would perish within its walls. But, to be fair, he didn’t care much about that either. Thousands of soldiers dying to realize one ruler’s ambition was simply the way of the world. So it was hardly an accurate standard for gauging someone’s, or something’s humanity.

  In the end, it did not matter. Celeste wanted to grow, and he wanted it to grow. Their interests were aligned. Together, they would carve a path toward their objectives, and they would both get what they wanted.

  It’s time to go back, Viktor thought. He took one gold coin from the box and slipped it into his pocket. “I’m leaving,” he told the Core, waving his hand in farewell.

  [Goodbye, Master.]

  Celeste could teleport him anywhere within the dungeon, or even to the outside, but doing so would cost mana, something he didn’t want to waste. It was a convenient function that would become absolutely essential as the dungeon grew, but for now, he would only use it when truly necessary. So he simply went on foot instead.

  Viktor reached the top of the staircase and stepped back onto the first floor. Ahead of him stretched a single corridor, the walls on both sides cold and rough, bare except for patches of pale green moss that clung sporadically in the cracks. The flat ceiling above was illuminated by the dungeon’s magic, casting an otherworldly glow to guide his way. The corridor ran straight for several paces before splitting into two. There were no marks, no signs, no clues to tell an intruder which way to go. But of course, he was no intruder. He already knew how to get out of this maze.

  As he neared the fork, a sudden flash of movement caught his eye. A goblin slipped from a hidden tunnel in the wall to his left and darted across the path before him. It pressed a clawed hand to the opposite stone, and an opening yawned where there had been nothing moments before. The creature disappeared inside, and the lid slid shut, erasing the passage as if it had never existed.

  Viktor halted, watching as more goblins appeared and vanished, getting in and out of the secret tunnels one after another. Celeste had told him that the testing had been completed, so he guessed they were just drilling. That made sense. Being familiar with the maneuvers would help them survive the combat. And it was not like they had anything else to do when the intruders hadn’t arrived yet. Oh wait... then maybe they were just screwing around to pass the time.

  Well, whatever.

  Let them enjoy their free time while it lasts. They’ll be busy soon enough.

  He was going to put them to good use. And it was not just fighting and killing; there were other tasks as well. Encounters would inevitably leave their mark on the dungeon, so repairs were a matter of when, not if. While major modifications could only be carried out by the Dungeon Core, minor adjustments and maintenance could be left to his minions. He had already paid for them in full, and he intended to get his money’s worth.

  When the goblins noticed Viktor, they quickly ran toward him, bowing and grinning with their crooked teeth. Even though his current body was one of a feeble boy, he remained the master of this dungeon. They were bound to the dungeon, and therefore bound to him.

  It was not like he was enslaving them, however. All summoned creatures with intelligence above that of an animal had entered the contract of their own free will. Why? Because being a minion in a dungeon had its own perks. Their lives were sustained by the dungeon’s mana, so they didn’t need to eat or sleep. They would also never suffer from natural diseases. Furthermore, any injury that didn’t result in instant death would heal gradually over time. So while a clean beheading could kill a goblin, it could survive being bisected, slowly growing back the lower half of its body.

  Viktor had heard that goblin society was very brutal. They bred quickly and died easily. There was a constant cycle of backstabbing, oppression, and usurpation that most didn’t survive for long in. Given the cruel nature of their world, becoming a minion of the dungeon was perhaps not a bad idea at all. No wonder many goblins eagerly signed the contracts.

  He nodded at the creatures and signaled them to continue their practice. He walked through the maze one last time before leaving. The preparations were complete. Now the only thing left to do was find some hapless adventurers to feed the dungeon.

  Speaking of feeding, he needed to go home and make lunch for Claire.