"Told you," the boy whispered, his voice cracking. "It's real."
He was young, barely old enough to shave, dressed in mismatched leather armor. A short sword hung at his hip. Behind him stood a girl, equally young, holding a bow with hands that trembled visibly. They had already navigated the entrance hall, their boots crunching on the carefully arranged bone-rubble.
Victor watched from the concealed observation gallery overlooking the entrance hall.
"Silver Lance," he muttered. "Noted."
He gestured to Sniv, who was crouching beside him with a team of four goblins—Guard-1, Labor-15, and two recruits Victor had designated as "Special Effects."
"Alright, rehearsal time," Victor whispered, checking the sun position through the cracks in the ceiling. They had maybe ten minutes before the 'guests' reached the main foyer. "Let's review the engagement rules one last time. Guard-1?"
The large goblin straightened up, holding a rusted shield he’d polished with mud to look more ancient. "Look scary. Make noise. Do not hit soft pink skin. If skin breaks, Boss gets mad."
"Correct. Labor-15?"
"Drop from ceiling. Scream. Run away before sword hits." Labor-15 demonstrated a crouch, looking eager. He was smaller, faster, perfect for the hit-and-run tactics Victor was implementing.
"And remember the roll," Victor added. "Don't just land. Land and roll. It looks more dramatic."
"Special Effects team?"
The two recruits held up their instruments: a hollow log, a bag of dry leaves, and a weird contraption Sniv had built involving a taut string and a resin-coated glove. "Shake leaves. Hit log. Make big monster sounds."
"And the String of Torment?" Victor asked, pointing to the contraption.
One of the recruits grinned, revealing a mouthful of jagged teeth. He ran the glove along the string, producing a sound like a dying violin—or a banshee with a stubbed toe. It was perfect.
"Excellent," Victor said. "Remember, we are selling an experience. These two need to leave here believing they barely escaped with their lives. If they die, they tell no one. If they realize we're holding back, they tell everyone we're weak. You have to hit the sweet spot: terrifying, but incompetent."
"Scare," Sniv repeated, practicing his menacing face. It looked more like constipation, but in the dark, with the right lighting, it might pass for ferocity. "Like ghost. Oooooooh."
"Less 'ooooooh', more 'menacing rustle'," Victor corrected. "And Sniv? The timing on the lever is critical. If they get too close to the sword, you pull it. But not a second before. We need them to see it, want it, and almost touch it. It needs to be the fish that got away."
"Sniv understands. Carrot and stick. Sniv is stick."
"Go. Places, everyone."
The goblins scattered into the shadows, merging with the darkness of Floor Two. Victor settled back to watch. The curtain was rising.
They had reached the top of the stairs leading to Floor Two.
The darkness below was absolute—except for a faint, rhythmic orange pulse coming from deep within the earth.
The reflection of the Hero's sword on the copper walls. It throbbed like a heartbeat, warm and inviting against the cold blue of the dungeon stone.
"The light," Mira breathed. She lowered her bow slightly. "It's beautiful."
"It's magic," Jace corrected. "That's not a torch. That's an enchantment. We found it, Mira. We actually found it. Miller wasn't lying."
Greed replaced fear. It was a beautiful transaction to witness. Victor saw the calculation in Jace's eyes—the gold, the glory, the look on Captain Thorne's face when they marched in with a magic sword.
"We go down," Jace decided, adjusting his grip on his sword. "Grab it. Run back. Be heroes by dinner."
"What about the goblins?"
"We handled the entry, didn't we? We can handle a few runts."
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
They descended.
Floor Two was where the production value increased.
Victor had stationed goblins in the mushroom patches, hidden among the giant fungi. As Tom and Jerry passed, branches rustled. Shadows moved. The Special Effects team was doing excellent work—the sound of heavy footsteps (log) and slithering bodies (leaves) surrounded the intruders. Then came the String of Torment, wailing softly from a ventilation shaft.
"Did you hear that?" Mira spun around, bow raised. Her hands were shaking so badly the arrow rattled against the riser. "To the left!"
"Hear what?"
"Something... wailing. Like a ghost."
"Wind," Jace said, though he didn't sound convinced. "Just wind in the tunnels."
"Wind doesn't sound like a dying woman, Jace!"
"Keep moving," he hissed. "Eyes forward. Don't look at the shadows."
They took another step. A dry twig—placed there by Sniv—snapped loudly under Jace's boot.
Jace froze. He peered into the gloom. "Probably rats. Big ruins have big rats. Or bats."
He reached out to brush a hanging vine aside.
A goblin dropped from the ceiling directly in front of him.
"GYAAAAH!" the goblin screamed—a sound Sniv had practiced for hours. Labor-15 flared his arms, looking twice his size in the flickering torchlight. He landed in a perfect three-point crouch, hissed, and did a combat roll that would have made a Hollywood stuntman proud.
"AAAAAH!" Jace screamed back, a high-pitched sound that did not belong to a hero. He swung his sword in a wild panic.
The blade cut through empty air. Labor-15—showing surprising agility—hit the ground, rolled between Jace's legs, and vanished into the darkness before Jace could recover.
"Monsters!" Mira shouted, firing an arrow into the ceiling. It hit stone with a spark and clattered uselessly to the floor.
"Stay close!" Jace yelled, waving his sword at nothing. "Back to back! Form up!"
They spun in a circle, breathing hard. The darkness around them seemed to come alive. Whispers. Scratches. The sound of twenty goblins sounding like a hundred. Sniv let out a low, guttural growl that echoed off the walls.
"We leave," Mira said, her voice high and thin. Tears were starting to form in her eyes. "Jace, we leave now. This isn't worth it."
"The sword," Jace insisted, though his voice wavered. He stared down the corridor where the orange light pulsed. It was so close. Just fifty feet. "We're so close. I saw it. It's just down there. One dash. That's all we need."
He pointed toward the stairs to Floor Three.
Persistent, Victor noted. Stupid, but persistent. He's going to get them killed if he doesn't learn.
"Time for the encore," he signaled. "Sniv, drop the hammer."
Sniv pulled a lever.
On Floor Two, a section of the ceiling groaned. Dust rained down. A "boulder"—actually a papier-maché construct made of mud, wicker, and painted canvas—swung down on a rope, sweeping through the space where the adventurers stood.
It clipped Jace's shoulder, spinning him around and knocking him flat.
"Jace!" Mira screamed. She dropped her bow to grab him.
"I'm okay!" He scrambled up, clutching his arm. "It's... it's a trap! The whole place is trapped! The ceiling is coming down!"
From the shadows, the goblins began to chant. Low. Guttural. Meaningless sounds, but terrifying in the dark.
Gaka-laka-gaka-laka...
"They're summoning!" Jace yelled. The last shred of his courage evaporated. "Run! Mira, run!"
They ran.
They didn't look back. They didn't check for traps. They just sprinted for the stairs, abandoning dignity, tactics, and—crucially—their heavy backpacks.
Victor watched them scramble up to Floor One, trip over the rubble, and burst out into the sunlight like corks from a bottle.
Silence returned to the dungeon.
"Assessment," Victor called out, descending from his perch.
Sniv emerged from the mushrooms, looking pleased. "Humans run fast. Very fast. Sniv impressed."
"Casualties?"
"Labor-15 scraped knee. Boulder broke. That is all."
Victor nodded. "Acceptable losses. Retrieve the assets."
The goblins descended on the abandoned backpacks like locusts.
Victor examined the haul on the stone table of the Boss Chamber.
- Two bedrolls (flea-ridden and smelling of mildew).
- Three days of rations (hardtack that could double as masonry bricks).
- A coil of rope (frayed, clearly second-hand).
- A small pouch containing 12 copper coins and a single button.
- A water skin (leaking).
- A leather-bound diary.
Victor picked up the diary. It belonged to Jace. The cover was cracked, and the pages were dog-eared.
Entry 42: Miller says the lights are back in the Old Temple. Says it's haunted. I think it's loot. If Mira and I can find something—anything—maybe the Silver Lance will finally look at our application. Captain Thorne says they only take people with "field experience." Well, we'll show him.
"Silver Lance," Victor repeated.
"Shiny spears?" Sniv asked.
"A guild," Victor guessed. "Or a party. Professionals. Captain Thorne sounds like middle management with a hiring quota."
He tapped the book.
"If Jace and Mira make it back to town—and they will, because we let them—they're going to tell everyone about the ghosts, the traps, and the glowing sword. And they're going to mention it to this Captain Thorne."
"Big humans come next?" Sniv asked. The fear was back in his eyes.
"Yes. Probably. But that's what we want."
Victor looked at the calendar he had scratched onto the wall.
Six days gone. One day left.
Asterion's extension expired tomorrow.
"We have customers interested," Victor said, more to himself than Sniv. "But we haven't closed the deal. If no one comes tomorrow..."
He looked at the stairs to Floor Four.
If no one came tomorrow, he would have to explain to a Level 20 Minotaur why his 'entertainment' strategy had yielded zero entertainments.
"Sniv."
"Yes, Boss?"
"Any word from outside? Did Jace and Mira stop running?"
"Scouts say they ran all way to road. Stopped a cart. Talking loud. Waving hands."
"Good. The marketing is working. Now we just need the supply chain to deliver."
Victor walked to the edge of the chamber.
"Get some rest, Sniv. Tomorrow, we either become the most famous dungeon in the region, or we become lunch."
End of Chapter 14
[ARMI]
Session: Day 12 (Deadline -1) | Status: HIGH TENSION
Market Impact: [The Word of Mouth]
Target: Jace & Mira | Status: CONVERTED (Messengers)
Intel Acquired: [Silver Lance Guild] / [Captain Thorne]
Strategic Risk: Asterion (Deadline Impending)
Action Requirement: Close sale within 24 hours or suffer liquidation.