March saw the slow retreat of winter.

  It wasn't until the end of the month that the weather finally changed, heralding the arrival of spring.

  After all the excitement of February, the month of March passed far more slowly. Little occurred outside my domain that caught my attention. Three developments this month caught my interest. First, Russia agreed to a treaty with China, thereby increasing its influence in Manchuria, much to Japan's outrage, which was pursuing the same.

  Next was the full integration of Cuba as a state within the Union, which was completed. The American flag flew 48 stars representing its states. Finally, a small piece from Ireland caught my attention: a protest by some Irish nationals against the approval of a statue of Queen Victoria outside the Irish Parliament in Dublin. It was argued that she had opened Parliament, and that it was only right to have a statue of her outside commemorating her death. Overall, it seemed that the Irish population approved of this decision.

  Herbert and I agreed that he would travel in June to Bosie to visit his elder son and set up the trust. I ensured that he would review the trust's paperwork with a separate lawyer to ensure there were no hidden loopholes and that everything was as I desired.

  April arrived with spring asserting itself.

  The snow was gone, and green had spread everywhere. More animals and birds were sighted around the walls. I watched everything from the top of my special bubble as the year 1901 got underway. More travellers were using the road, and the local paper reported that the rail line to Cascadia would be doubled.

  Other rail lines were being expanded as well, and I was seeing more reports of cars being used in the East of the country. Things seemed to be moving in a direction I recognised.

  May brought the first visitors.

  Thankfully, they were just the usual intruders, not the Order of St Marcus or more monsters.

  A group of four miners, looking to maybe get some grave-robbing in while investigating rumours of hidden treasure. I called on the four Hunters who had fallen to the wendigo to take care of them.

  There was some grumbling from Rodriguez, but Rigger was silent. The sun was up, and he was hiding from it. The others were moving with purpose, hungry to start rebuilding their kill tallies.

  Blackstone claimed the first kill. He stepped out behind the group as they moved along the path. His hammer shattered the skull of the man at the back.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill.]

  His appearance sparked chaos and fear among the men. Harrington seizes the moment to slide up behind him without him realising. Harrington soared to slice through him and was now protruding from his chest.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill.]

  Roberson hacked into the neck of another, trying to draw his gun.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill.]

  McGregor took the last one down violently, stabbing him, working out his anger through a brutal murder.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill.]

  I left them to it and the cleanup. The bodies were buried, and the horse was delivered to Herbert. The alcohol and tobacco were split between them. The little money was added to the pile.

  The next day, Herbert delivered the papers, and the Crossway Chronicle was dominated by a stock-market crash, which people were calling the panic of 1901. It was hard to tell what was happening, but it seemed the major investors had engaged in a game of false accusations, causing panic throughout the market. They come out relatively okay, but many small investors had been virtually wiped out.

  I knew I would have to invest in the stock market for my new trust to generate income, but I was secretly glad I had decided to keep a third of its assets in gold for now. That was one of the few commodities that had gained value when people panicked, always running to buy gold.

  Herbert changed his plans and left mid-month to see his son in Boise. The whole family went on the trip, and they were gone for two weeks. When he returned, he presented me with the paperwork for the new trust. He had made sure two separate lawyers had reviewed it to ensure there were no loopholes or means to seize the land held by the trust.

  He had taken all the watches and jewellery I had amassed over the decades and sold them, claiming they were his father's collection. The ages of the pieces lent credence to his claims. A sizeable sum had been raised from the sales, and I was happy to see it would be invested as I desired.

  The New Genesis Foundation had officially come into being.

  I spent many months wondering about the name for the foundation that I was creating. In the end, I needed something to represent what it means, and that is me. I sought inspiration from many sources, even reading the Bible, to explore the times when Midian was mentioned. I found inspiration there. I played with the Genesis because that was where Midian was mentioned most. In the end, I added "new" to the mix as my Dungeon represented a fresh start.

  The book of Genesis was about beginnings, and my foundation would help bring a new era of technology into being. I liked that idea and went with the name. I informed Herbert of my choice and made sure he was ready to do what I needed.

  I learned from Herbert that the recent stock market panic had created a unique opportunity. Stocks were recovering from the shock of the selloffs, and my new foundation picked up quite a few up-and-coming companies at relatively low prices. Infrastructure and rail stocks were my primary investments. The other significant buy was US Treasuries. If this nation went anywhere in the direction the United States did in my time, then those Treasuries were going to be worth a fortune.

  June came in with the summer. The lands around me were green and thriving. Across the river, the farmer was overseeing the growing of his next crop. More Corn, it looks like, from here.

  I was on the top of my special bubble, looking out across the sea of green around me, when I caught movement along the path heading towards the dungeon gates.

  "Here we go again."

  A Caucasian man, stained from travel, dressed in sturdy clothes, was tying his horse up to a tree. There was a lantern tied to the saddlebags, and I became a bit excited.

  "The first Challenger of the year?"

  It was late afternoon, and the skies were relatively straightforward, with only a few wispy clouds. The sun was starting to sink towards the mountains in the west, but it was not in any rush. The ground was dry and firm, as we had not had rain for a few days.

  The man walked to the gates and looked beyond. He was extremely close to me now, and I got a good look at him. Late 20s or early 30s, but it was hard to tell with the beard. His hair was a touch longer than usual for the time and light brown. He had bright green eyes and a tanned face.

  He looked to be healthy, fit, and well-fed. I suspected he was involved in outdoor manual labour, as his hands were scarred and calloused from hard days. He was wearing a heavy coat and a hat. I thought the coat was a bit excessive, as it was pretty warm and he was sweating slightly.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He nodded to himself and walked back to his horse, opening up his coat. His back was to me, and I couldn't see much right now, but I realised quickly that he was removing his gun belt. He put it in the saddlebags and unclipped the lantern. He pulled out a large satchel from the same bag that he put the gun into. From the other side, the horse pulled out a Bowie knife and a hatchet. He closed his coat and wrapped the belt around the outside of it with the two weapons hanging from it.

  "Challenger then."

  I had arranged a series of logs into a rough triangle shape just off to the side of the gates. This was an area where any challenges could stop before they made their run into the Dungeon. There was a fire pit pre-dug there in case they wanted to have some food or warmth before they started.

  He sat on one of the logs watching the gates. He was preparing his satchel, tying the lantern to it. He had three separate water canteens. Two were put into the satchel, which was bulging now. The third was attached to his belt.

  "Properly preparing yourself. I got to respect that."

  I'll supply my own running monologue of what was happening. I generally didn't do this, but I was a bit bored today, and this was the first Challenger of the year. I could reach out and warn hunters that a challenge was about to begin, but I decided not to get involved, as usual. Once he crossed the threshold and things started, I would be permanently locked out of interactions until an end was reached.

  He was there for about an hour, went up, walked around a bit, stretched his legs, and even urinated by the tree. He checked his watch often. When the sun set a bit further towards the mountains, he stood up again and slung the satchel over his shoulder, so it sat diagonally across his body. He walked up to the gates and took a deep breath before crossing them.

  He walked through the courtyard and up to the plinth bearing the written instructions. His hands were gloved, but he still ran them across the carved stone. I could see him mouthing the words, whether reading them or reciting them from memory, I did not know.

  He looked up at the two paths that led from the courtyard. He reached down and pulled out the hatchet from his belt, gripping it tightly in his right hand. He checked his watch once again and then set off along the southern route.

  [A Challenger has entered your Dungeon.]

  "Here we go."

  Roberson will be the first Hunter up today.

  I shifted my perception slightly above the Challenger and behind him. This gave me the best view of the area as he advanced. I would have to check myself constantly in case the Hunter had managed to get around both of us.

  The Challenger quickly set a good pace. He was moving fast enough to reach the church soon, but not rushing. He was scanning around, looking for danger, stopping when he thought he saw something, then double-checking.

  I've come to respect challengers who took this seriously and didn't mess around. Far too many went to the gates and strode in, thinking it would be a relatively easy journey to the church. They were all now buried here. This Challenger was treating the trial with the respect and caution it deserved.

  I looked out across the graveyard, noting the signs of wear now starting to show on some of the stonework. Nature was desperately trying to reclaim New Midian, but so far it had been unable to do so. This all helped camouflage this place's true purpose. To anyone unfamiliar with its truth, this place looks like an old graveyard, which was precisely what I planned on.

  These thoughts were in my head when I spotted movement off to the left. Roberson was close and had spotted the Challenger. From the Challenger's body language, it seems he had not yet identified the approaching danger. I shifted my position to get a better angle on my Hunters' approach and the Challenger's reaction.

  Roberson was coming in a bit too aggressively, I thought. It appeared he wanted to get close and finish this to add another kill to his tally, which he was rebuilding. He was not usually so reckless, but he was still smarting over the loss of his kill tally. This could work either for him or against him; we are about to find out.

  He was angled now just behind the Challenger and began moving in for the kill. I shifted my attention to the Challenger and noticed a slight shift in his position as he walked. It was subtle, but he was tilting his head to the left more. His hand holding the hatchet was tightening.

  He knew Roberson was coming.

  Roberson broke into a run trying to blitz the Challenger. He charged a man with his blade held high, ready to inflict a fatal wound to his head or neck. The Challenger, however, had other ideas. With a spinning motion, he dropped to the ground and tossed his hatchet at the charging Hunter.

  The move took Roberson completely by surprise, and he didn't have time to arrest his movement or dodge. The Challenger was also thrown from his blindside and did not have time to make a proper aim throw. The hatchet span through the air and collided blade-first into Roberson's torso at the collarbone.

  The blade impact cuts deeply, properly shattering the bone. Roberson was forced to drop his blade as he cried out in pain. It was a blind throw, but ironically, it hit one of the best non-vital areas on my Hunter. Roberson staggers back, looking at the blade near his neck. He grabbed the handle and pulled it free, inciting another cry of pain.

  His face is a twisted mask of rage and pain. Now holding the hatchet, he looks at the Challenger. The problem for him was that the Challenger hadn't been resting on his laurels and was moving. The Challenger's fist made contact with Roberson's face, breaking his nose.

  Roberson's head snapped to the side from the impact. But he wasn't given a chance to recover as the Challenger punched him repeatedly. The Challenger had grabbed the front of Roberson's coat to help anchor him in place as he rained blows down on him.

  Roberson was on the receiving end of an old-fashioned ass kicking, and he didn't like it. His face was a pulverised mess of blood and swelling tissue. The problem was that any normal man would have succumbed to such a pounding. Roberson was a far tougher thing.

  The repeated blows had hurt the Challenger's hand, even with the heavy gloves he was wearing. There was a momentary break in the blows, and that gave Roberson the chance to recover. He punched back with his fist, holding the handle of the hatchet. He caught the Challenger across the side of the head, knocking him to the side and dislodging his hat. I heard a crack at impact, and I think Roberson might have broken a few fingers.

  Both men staggered apart, both breathing hard, trying to recover from the injuries they had just sustained. Blood was trickling from the Challenger's head from where he had been hit.

  Roberson staggered, catching himself on some gravestones. The Challenger was still upright, and he had pulled his Bowie knife from its sheath. Roberson still held his hatchet, but his grip wasn't firm; several fingers didn't appear to be working correctly.

  The Challenger was the first to act because he was the least injured. He crossed the distance between the pair, looking to end the fight. Roberson saw him coming and did his best to steady himself to meet the attack.

  Roberson lashed out with the hatchet, forcing the Challenger to dodge aside or be cut by his own blade. There was not much power or speed behind the swing. The Challenger avoided it without issue. This caused Roberson to overbalance and fall forward, staggering several steps as he tried to steady himself with his off hand, his eyes swelling. The dark red blood was staining his clothes and leaking from his sleeve.

  The Challenger saw his imbalance and exploited it. They were close, which gave Roberson no opportunity to avoid another fist to his jaw. The upper cut snapped his head back and sent him staggering back into the gravestones again.

  Roberson was in trouble, approaching the moment to decide whether to hold on and try to win, or to get out.

  The Challenger stabbed forward with his Bowie knife, aiming for his chest around his heart. Roberson had enough awareness to step forward and shift, allowing the Challenger's blade and arm to slide past him. The blade sliced across his side, adding another injury to his tally. Roberson gritted his teeth and caught the Challenger's arm by wrapping his arm around it. The pair were almost face-to-face.

  Roberson's head was fast and brutal.

  This time, it was the Challenger's nose that was broken. As soon as the Challenger's head came back up, he received another. Even I winced at that one.

  Now it was Roberson who let him go, and the Challenger fell back onto the ground as Roberson slumped, sliding down a gravestone. He was breathing hard through his mouth as his face was a mess, and his nose was crushed. The Challenger had dropped his Bowie knife, but Roberson had dropped the hatchet. The Challenger was recovering.

  Roberson had problems with both his hands. He pushed up, using the gravestone for leverage. His ruined face twisted even more in pain from the effort.

  He got his feet first with a few shaky steps, closed the distance, and delivered a powerful kick to the Challenger as he was rising. Roberson's boot caught him in the stomach, winding him with a "Ohhff" as he collapsed again. Roberson kicked him again, but the Challenger rolled, having the boot hit his back.

  Roberson, it seemed, had made his choice and turned to leave. He reached down and recovered his blade as quickly as he could. His condition was not very fast, and he retreated from the Challenger. The Challenger, in turn, scrambled across the grass and recovered his Bowie knife. By the time he was back on his feet, ready to fight, Roberson was already beating a hasty retreat.

  The Challenger blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what was happening. He clearly expected to keep fighting and struggled to grasp that it was over. His fight-or-flight instincts were fully engaged, and he expected another attack.

  He slumped when he accepted the fight had ended. Roberson was far away now, harder to see behind the tombs, statues, and gravestones. After a few seconds' rest, the Challenger went to check his own wounds. He put the Bowie knife back into its sheath.

  A few gentle prods, along with a lot of wincing, told him his nose was broken badly. His lower face and beard were covered in blood. He gripped his nose and, with a firm yank, sought to reset it. He cursed loudly, tears in his eyes. His cursing sounded odd as his nose was blocked. He walked around in a tight circle as he dealt with the pain.

  Once he was able to focus again, he checked the rest of himself out. He had a few minor cuts and plenty of bruises coming up. He was probably starting to ache in places he never realised were hit in the fight. He used water from the canteen at his hip clean his face and wash the taste of blood from his mouth.

  He rested for about half an hour before continuing towards the church.

  The sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains to the west, and the sky was turning a fiery red.