[I see. So that is what happened yesterday.]

  That was all Celeste had to say after Viktor briefed it on the meeting between Gideon and Rennald. The words came out flat, uttered in the usual monotonous, emotionless tone. It was impossible to know how it actually felt.

  Well, who was he kidding? The Dungeon Core had no feelings. It would never get disappointed, it would never get angry, it would not even get mildly annoyed. A thing of pure reason. Cold logic stacked on colder logic, gears spinning while it calculated the possible outcomes. Nonetheless, it should have recognized the looming threat and started adjusting its strategy based on these new factors.

  “I guess I misjudged Gideon,” Viktor said. “I had thought he would’ve leaped at the opportunity.”

  The Guildmaster looked every bit the bureaucrat he had become, someone who had long since traded swinging swords for signing scrolls. Middle-aged, well-fed, and wrapped in fine clothing. Not quite the plumage of someone like Rennald, of course, but the difference between him and the poor bastards in the Guild hall was hard to miss. Yet, as it turned out, he was still an adventurer at heart. In the meeting, he had surprised everyone, Viktor included, by saying outright that he was against the deal. He believed it was wrong to hand over the dungeon in exchange for easy money. If it had been his call alone, he would have declined Clovis’s offer.

  And that was why Cedric’s party had been invited. Gideon needed someone to back him up, someone from the adventuring community, and who was better than the promising young man who had discovered the dungeon in question? But when the time came, when the black-haired boy was asked for his opinion, he said, “While I prefer the dungeon to stay here, it’s up to the people of Daelin, not an outsider like myself, to decide.”

  Polite, respectful, and utterly useless.

  Oh well, what else can I expect from an idealistic kid?

  Not that it really mattered anyway. Regardless of what Gideon and Cedric wanted, they were not the ones who made the final decision. Rennald was. And the rich man was fully in favor of the deal.

  Viktor sighed. This is problematic.

  The Overseers of the caravan station had ruled the town for generations. Back when Daelin was still an outpost, a resting place for the caravans traveling through the thick woods of the Central Plains, Rennald’s ancestors had already planted their flag and started collecting tolls. They were the sole authority in this backwater town, where there were no guilds or councils, only the station and its overseer. Even now, after Daelin had evolved from an outpost to a settlement, the reality hadn’t changed much. Trade was the blood that kept its heart beating, and the Overseer was the one who controlled the flow of that blood. He wore no crown and he sat on no throne, but he had the station, the maps, the wagons, and command of every road that mattered. That made him king enough. Everyone answered to him, in one way or another.

  That was also exactly why Rennald was going to accept Clovis’s offer. After all, the discovery of the dungeon posed a threat to the existing power hierarchy. As adventurers flocked to Daelin like moths to a flame, the importance of the Adventurer’s Guild rose. That meant more contracts, more money, more respect. All of it funneled straight to the Guildmaster, who one day would have enough influence, prestige, and authority to rival the Overseer himself. Rennald obviously didn’t like it, but there was little he could do, and more importantly, the dungeon filled everyone’s pockets, including his. So he swallowed it, begrudgingly accepting the situation.

  Until Clovis came and made an offer that changed everything.

  Now, Rennald no longer had to choose between wealth and power. He could have both. The dungeon could go, the Guild could shrink back into obscurity, and the town could return to where it belonged: under his thumb.

  [Master?]

  “What’s it?”

  [You have only told me the stances of the Guildmaster and the Overseer, but what about the Mayor?]

  Viktor’s lip curled in a sneer. “Him? He had no opinion. The old fool just tried to appease everyone.” He pitched his voice into a parody of Marcellus’s pathetic warble. “L-let’s not rush! P-perhaps we’ll decide in the next meeting? T-tea, anyone?”

  Still, he had to thank that spineless old man. Because of his indecision, the meeting ended without any conclusion. But Viktor knew this was only delaying the inevitable. In the end, Rennald was going to win.

  [What are you going to do now, Master?]

  “What else could I do?” Viktor let out a dry laugh. “Other than bolstering the defense of the dungeon and waiting for the invasion that is bound to come?”

  It’s bad. Really, really bad.

  Unlike the Dungeon Reavers, Clovis didn’t have to operate in secrecy. He was acquiring the dungeon through legitimate means, and it meant he would never stop. Even if Viktor managed to defeat the first party he sent, he would simply dispatch another, stronger and better prepared. The fat man had the resources to press on indefinitely, so no matter how many times Viktor fended the invaders off, they would just keep coming, and the dungeon would eventually fall.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  [You are not trying to influence the town’s decision somehow?]

  “Hah, what am I supposed to do?” Viktor barked. “Outside the dungeon, I’m nothing but a weak and poor brat.”

  [But that will not stop you from trying, right?]

  Of course not. Compared to what he had lived through in his past life, this was nothing. He still remembered crawling through the filthy streets, starving, shivering, and teetering on madness, while he was searching for his old master. If he hadn’t given up then, there was no reason to give up now.

  Nevertheless, the fact remained that his options were very limited—

  “Celeste!”

  [Yes, Master?]

  “Have the gremlins finished the task I gave them?”

  It was just a simple assignment he had handed to his new minions as a way to test their abilities. But now that he thought about it, that item might be crucial to the survival of his dungeon.

  [Yes, it is completed. If you want, I can have them bring it to you now.]

  “No need,” Viktor said. “I’ll go to the first floor and take it myself.”

  [On foot, Master?]

  “Yes, it’s been a while since I walked through the dungeon and saw everything with my own eyes.”

  Whether or not he could actually do anything about the mess in town, the defense of the dungeon was still important. So this was a good chance for him to inspect his stronghold, to make sure that it was ready for whatever lay ahead.

  [I can have the merfolk prepare a boat.]

  A boat, huh? That was certainly more convenient. Sitting on a boat pulled by one or two mermen would save him time and effort compared to walking across all the creaking bridges strung between the water realm’s scattered islands.

  “Good idea. I’ll take the boat.”

  [Please wait a few minutes. I will have everything prepared.]

  While Celeste busied itself sending instructions to the minions of the third floor, no doubt in the same monotonous voice it used to talk to him, Viktor dropped into a nearby chair, his eyes wandering across the Core Room.

  Ah, a new scene has been added to the mural.

  There was now a depiction of Sebekton burying his massive axe into Manfred’s face, with the two halves of Redhead’s bisected body sprawling awkwardly on the ground nearby. Meanwhile, Brunette was being drowned by the merfolk, her hands thrashing desperately as if she was trying to claw her way back to the surface.

  “How’s Sebekton’s injured eye?” Viktor asked.

  [He will recover soon, Master.]

  “Once he is fully healed, I want to organize a sparring match.”

  [A spar, Master?]

  “Yes. To gauge the abilities of the new minions and the new power of his axe.”

  [Understood. I will arrange it right away.]

  Then, Celeste informed him that his boat was ready.

  After a nod of acknowledgement, Viktor stood up and walked toward the door that led to the water realm of the third floor. Once he stepped out of the Core Room, he was greeted by the rhythmic sound of waves lapping against the shore. Ahead, his boat was waiting.

  With a mermaid next to it.

  He had expected the burly, muscle-bound mermen to be the ones manning the boat. But then, he recalled that mermaids could manipulate water, which meant she didn’t need to touch the thing to make it glide.

  When she caught sight of him, the mermaid straightened, then dipped into a respectful bow. “Master, my name is Fianna. I’m tasked with escorting you through the waters of this floor.”

  Just like her brethren, the mermaid’s skin was a rich turquoise, catching the pale glow of the mana-powered lights with a wet, shimmering sheen. Her long hair flowed like strands of seaweed around her fin-like ears, brushing softly against the slender shoulders dusted with small, delicate scales.

  Viktor’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary, before he walked to the boat and settled down. “Thank you. We can move now.”

  “As you wish,” the mermaid replied. At her command, the waves stirred to life, pushing the vessel away from the shore.

  As they passed the island where Sebekton’s house was located, Viktor caught sight of the towering Guardian’s silhouette. He was sitting near a campfire, flanked by two Cyclopes.

  Viktor had summoned five of these one-eyed brutes, and he had placed two here. They would serve as reserves, ready to aid the Guardian in battle if needed, or act as the last line of defense, protecting the Core Room in the worst-case scenario.

  A breeze drifting off the island swept past, and a smell hit his nostrils. Strong, rich, and disgustingly appetizing smell.

  The smell of grilled meat.

  It seemed the Crocodilian was sharing his spoils from the other day with the two newcomers. For a moment, Viktor wondered which one of the three fallen adventurers was being skewered over the fire, before he decided that he didn’t want to think too hard about it. Some questions were best left unanswered.

  The boat glided forward, propelled by the currents that Fianna willed into motion, while the mermaid swam beside him. No, he wouldn’t call that swimming. She dove beneath the surface, her fish tail flicking behind her as she vanished from view, leaving no trace of her presence other than the spreading ripples that slowly faded. Then, she rose. Her head and shoulders broke the surface first, her jewel-like eyes glinting in excitement as she glanced at him playfully. Her midriff and scaled tail followed, breaking free from the water’s grasp. For a heartbeat, she hung there, suspended, a frozen splash of turquoise and silver, before she plunged back down once more.

  “I have no problem with you having fun,” Viktor said. “But you’re splashing water all over me here.”

  The mermaid dropped like a stone.

  Thankfully, she was far enough away when she hit the water, so only a few droplets found their way onto his clothes. She stayed submerged for a while, and she had stopped moving the boat as well. Then, she slowly resurfaced, her head barely above the waves.

  “My apologies, Master,” Fianna said, her blue cheeks darkening from embarrassment. “I thought a normal trip might be a bit dull, so I decided to entertain you with a dance.”

  So that’s how the merfolk dance? Viktor thought, amused. “Don’t you have any kind of performance that doesn’t involve drenching me?”

  She tilted her head, thinking. Then she said, “Well, I can sing a song.”

  Viktor raised an eyebrow. “A mermaid’s song?”

  “No, no,” Fianna waved her hands. “Just a normal song. There is no enchantment behind it.”

  “Fine, then. Sing me your song.”

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