With over fifteen hundred points in my possession and a new technique to generate more while I worked, it was time to get down to business.
I activated the Dungeon Editor, and the three-dimensional interface appeared before me, showing the raw sixty-meter diameter space I had expanded. An empty cave, impersonal, soulless. My first task was to give this place some personality.
I began carving the stone mentally, molding the terrain as if it were clay. I didn't want a simple cave. I needed something that told a story, that conveyed a feeling to the invader from the moment they set foot inside.
I decided to mix styles. Ancient architecture devoured by nature. Time-worn bricks fusing with living rock. As if a forgotten temple had been swallowed by the mountain centuries ago.
On some walls, the bricks were visible, weathered, with mortar crumbling away. On others, natural rock broke through, shattering the masonry, reclaiming the space as its own. The contrast between constructed and natural created a unique aesthetic.
But I needed more. Something to make it imposing.
So I began carving engravings on the walls.
In the main rooms, I dedicated time to sculpting detailed scenes. Humanoid figures kneeling, tiny compared to the size of the murals, hands clasped in supplication. Their faces, though simple, conveyed devotion. They looked upward, toward the top of the murals.
There I carved the main figure: a silhouette wrapped in dark robes, arms extended, descending from a sky represented by wavy lines. I didn't want to give it defined features, just the imposing form of something arriving from above to receive the worship of mortals.
It turned out perfect.
I continued exploring my mental territory, creating more murals in other rooms. But these, when I tried to shape them, something strange happened. My mind imagined scenes continuing the story, but when materialized, the carvings appeared destroyed. Beaten, torn, with marks of violence as if someone had passed a giant hammer over them.
Fragments of figures lay on the carved floor, unrecognizable. What should have been a coherent narrative ended in chaos.
I did it intentionally. I wanted to create a sense of mystery, the kind that makes you ask: what happened here? Who destroyed these murals and why?
Without a doubt, the invaders would wonder the same thing.
---
Satisfied with the overall style, I moved on to the layout.
I designed an irregular labyrinth in the central zone. Hallways that twisted back on themselves, side caves that led to dead ends. Some tunnels simply disappeared into the rock, forcing retreat. I didn't want it to be easy to reach the end.
At strategic points, I created spawning zones. Small chambers hidden behind false walls or in dark corners, where my monsters could appear and regroup away from the invaders. Reduced spaces, undecorated, purely functional.
Everywhere I added stalactites and stalagmites. Hanging from the ceiling, emerging from the floor, some forming natural columns where they converged. Not just for decoration, but because they offered cover. A goblin crouched behind a stalagmite could surprise an unwary hunter.
When I finished the base design, I observed the whole.
It was beautiful. A perfect mix of ruin and nature, forgotten worship and chaos. The walls told incomplete stories, the hallways confused, the shadows danced among the rock formations.
Now I needed inhabitants.
---
The editor didn't consume DP, but monsters did. I opened the shop and reviewed my options. With over a thousand points and my ability to actively absorb mana, I could afford some ambition.
But I decided to be practical.
Goblins.
They're the tutorial of every dungeon, the first enemies every invader expects to find. Weak, cowardly, but numerous. Perfect for testing my design, for observing how my floor performed, what worked and what needed improvement.
Plus, they were cheap. Fifty points each.
One hundred goblins. That would be a respectable army for the first floor. One hundred small green creatures lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment to attack.
But before summoning them, I needed atmosphere. Total darkness doesn't work if even my own monsters can't see. And although goblins have better night vision than humans, they needed some light to move and set up ambushes.
I invested some points in luminous decorations. Small crystals embedded in the walls that emitted a faint, greenish, almost ghostly glow. I placed them strategically: enough to illuminate the main paths, but leaving deep shadow zones on the sides, behind columns, in the recesses.
The goblins could hide in the darkness and attack from it, while the invaders would hesitate between advancing quickly or checking every gloomy corner.
---
With the lighting ready, I opened the monster shop and began the summoning.
One hundred times I selected Goblin. One hundred times the system confirmed the purchase. One hundred small creatures began to materialize in the spawning zones I had prepared.
The sensation through the bond was overwhelming. One hundred tiny consciousnesses appearing from nothing, confused, scared, hungry. Basic emotions, simple, but real. I could feel their initial fear, quickly followed by instinctive loyalty toward me. It was a little disconcerting to be worshipped so suddenly.
Some began to move, exploring the rooms. Others crouched in the shadows, exactly where I had placed them. A couple briefly fought over a bone fragment on the floor, until a mental command from me separated them.
Now I had one hundred goblins exploring the first floor.
But every army needs a leader.
---
For the final room, the largest, the most imposing, I designed something special. A throne of rock and bones, elevated on a platform, surrounded by offerings carved into the walls. There I would place the boss.
I didn't want another goblin. I needed something that commanded respect, that would make invaders hesitate when they reached the end.
An orc.
I opened the shop and found the entry. Orc: 350 points. I had some left over from the lighting investment, so I bought it without hesitation.
But not just any orc. While it materialized in the throne room, I used additional points to equip it. An iron axe, large, double-edged, capable of splitting a shield in one blow. Simple but functional armor: leather cuirass reinforced with metal plates, steel pauldrons, bracers. Enough to protect it from basic attacks.
The orc emerged from the summoning light with a guttural roar. It stood almost two meters tall, dark green skin, prominent tusks, yellow eyes that scrutinized the room with basic but surprising intelligence for a monster. It grabbed the axe that appeared in its hands and weighed it with satisfaction.
Through the bond, I perceived its personality. More complex than the goblins'. Pride, desire to prove its worth, fierce loyalty toward me. And hunger. Lots of hunger.
—I know —I told it mentally—. I'll give you a name. From now on, you'll be called Ravenous.
Upon receiving its name, the orc became emotional. So much so that it let out a cry of euphoria and happiness. Being named by its creator meant something to it.
Ravenous climbed onto the throne and sat down, the axe resting on the bone armrest, waiting for future invaders.
---
Now, finally. My first floor was complete.
One hundred goblins lurking in the shadows. An orc boss waiting on his throne. Labyrinthine hallways. Mysterious murals. Dim lighting and zones of absolute darkness.
I contemplated it all from my expanded consciousness, merged with the dungeon, feeling every corner, every creature, every crystal gleaming in the penumbra.
Only one thing was missing.
A name for the floor.
Something simple, that would tell invaders what awaited them. A warning that this was only the beginning, the first step in a dungeon that would grow much larger.
"Rookie Floor" no. Too cliché. I suppose I'll find a better name in the future.
---
Now I just had to wait.
Wait for some hunter, some reckless adventurer, some wretch with more courage than brains, to find the entrance and decide to explore.
All my preparations were ready. For now, I would focus on continuing to increase my DP count, as well as finding a way to make my territory larger.
Because as a Dungeon Master, I needed to add more and more floors. Each one more difficult and deadly than the last—but not too deadly. Just enough to weed out both the weak and the strong alike.
But that would come later.
For now, I watched my creation from the shadows, feeling the pulse of one hundred small hearts beating in the darkness.
And I smiled, full of anticipation.