Chapter 4
My PT manager suggested I finally use my appraisal skill’s translation feature, so I activated the ability I’d somehow forgotten I even had.
Information flooded my vision at once: the stats of every monster and trap in my dungeon, their traits, affinities, and quirks, all lined up in neat floating panels. At the same time, the wyvern’s growls snapped into focus.
Its words untangled in my mind as easily as if it had always spoken my language. It had said it was happy to serve under me and had politely asked where it was.
“Happy to be of service. You are in the [[Labyrinth of Yuuno]]…”
The name just slipped out.
The moment I spoke it, reality lurched.
My dungeon map exploded outward, expanding until it was five times its previous size. Lines and symbols stretched and multiplied, new rooms and corridors budding from the old like crystal growths. Waves of power rolled through my walls and floors. One by one, every monster under my control lit up on my interface, their levels ticking upward – twice, three times, some even more.
“What just happened?!” I demanded, stunned.
This was exactly the kind of thing the DMI loved.
“By naming the dungeon, you have bestowed a fragment of your authority upon it without expending PT,” the DMI replied calmly, sounding just a little smug.
When the implications sank in, a slow, wicked grin crept across my mental face. I turned my attention back to the black wyvern still kneeling before me. It shifted uneasily, wings half‑unfurled, as if it could feel my mood change.
“Welcome, first‑floor boss… Makkura,” I declared, my voice echoing through the stone. “You are the lord of the pitch‑black hell.”
The wyvern’s head jerked up in surprise.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said, bowing so low his horned snout nearly touched the floor. “This is a great honour.”
The dungeon answered my declaration at once.
The rough cave stone shimmered and reshaped itself. Floors and walls darkened, turning into pitch‑black brick that seemed to swallow the light. From the once‑dirt ceiling, iron brackets surfaced, cradling dim blue‑flamed lamps that flickered with ghostly fire. Treasure chests coalesced around the first floor like illusions snapping into reality – tucked in corners, framed in alcoves, placed temptingly near obvious trap points.
Behind the boss spawn point, a circular sigil carved itself into the ground: a transfer circle of intricate, swirling runes, glowing electric blue in time with my core.
Then the monsters changed.
One after another, my goblins, slimes, croc‑men, and even the golems were washed in cold neon light. Their bodies turned ghostly and semi‑transparent, edged in luminous blue. New windows flashed in front of me: every monster on the first floor had gained the class [[Ghoul]]. Even Makkura’s stat window updated, his title now reading: [[First‑Floor Boss: Makkura, Lord of the Pitch‑Black Hell (Ghoul Wyvern)]].
Before I could finish processing that, another cascade of pop‑ups assaulted my vision.
[[--Level up--]] [[--Level up--]] [[--Level up--]]
The notifications stacked so fast I could barely read them. My level ticked upward like a slot machine gone berserk, racing all the way to level 50 before finally grinding to a halt.
The flood of numbers faded just in time for a new set of system messages:
(-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Dragon Tamer]] --) (-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Labyrinth Builder]] --)
More followed immediately afterward:
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
(-- Spawning [[Second Layer]] --) (-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Master of Monsters]] --)
If I’d still had a stomach, it would have dropped through the floor.
“This is how you accidentally become a raid boss or demon lord,” I thought faintly.
The system apparently wasn’t done turning my life upside down, because another notification appeared as if the universe had been buffering.
(SKILL acquired [[Spatial Movement]])
Joy surged through me so suddenly I almost lost control of my interface.
I could move.
By focusing on my map and mentally “tapping” a location, I could jump there instantly. No more being stuck seeing only through nearby rooms – I could actually go where I wanted.
I selected the boss room.
With a lurch like falling sideways through a dream, I appeared there alongside Makkura. The chamber now matched his new title: towering black‑brick pillars, blue flames flickering in iron sconces, and a deep, circular arena marked out by glowing lines in the floor. A faint, eerie mist coiled around Makkura’s talons.
It turned out I could transport others with me too. After a moment of inspection, I deposited Makkura in the exact centre of his arena and then blinked myself away, not wanting to crowd my brand‑new raid boss.
“B‑bye, master…” the ghostly wyvern called after me, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room, as I vanished from his sight.
I reappeared in what I still thought of as “my” room: my core chamber. The familiar surroundings calmed me just enough to start thinking straight again.
Time for the next step.
I brought up my status page and selected the [[New Floor]] option.
The world tilted – and then reset.
I found myself in an exact copy of my original starter room from level one: bare stone walls, simple layout, the same faint glow‑worm light as when I had first woken up in this world. It was like stepping back in time.
“All right,” I murmured to myself. “If the first floor is the pitch‑black hell…”
I closed my metaphorical eyes and imagined heat: blistering air, red light, roaring magma.
“I shall call this floor… the Red‑Hot Hell.”
Confidence I never had in my old life surged through me as I declared the name, louder this time, with a certainty that made the dungeon itself seem to hold its breath.
The labyrinth responded.
Once again, my territory swelled to five times its size. The stone around me flushed from grey to a deep, angry red. Magma oozed from cracks in the walls, flowing in slow rivers beneath metal grates and carved channels. Massive bubbles of lava rose and burst in distant pits, painting the halls in a pulsing orange‑red glow.
But it wasn’t just the dungeon that changed.
My mind did, too.
Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I realised I was… different. Calmer. More focused. Here, inside my own labyrinth, I wasn’t the introverted kid hiding at the back of a classroom anymore. I’d been giving orders. Naming bosses and negotiating with an AI. I hadn’t even noticed how naturally I’d slipped into it.
This place – this sprawling, murderous maze of my own making – was the most secure and genuinely happy I had ever felt.
My interface updated, showing the layout of the new floor. I had started with five basic rooms, just like the first level, but now, after the expansion, there were twenty‑five. Still less than the first floor’s sprawling two hundred‑plus, but a solid foundation.
I didn’t have to do the planning alone.
My PT manager, dungeon master, and strategist fragments all snapped to work. The tactician began sketching out pathways, chokepoints, and death‑loops for “optimal success rate.” At the same time, the PT and monster managers opened up the shop and started buying anything that screamed “lava” or “fire damage.”
Red slimes that thrived in overheated vents. Pigmen that waded cheerfully through ankle‑deep lava. Gore trolls with charred hides and molten blood. Pixie wyrms that darted through the air like living sparks, spitting fire and nesting near magma falls. Any creature that either lived in superheated environments or boasted fire‑based attacks got a place in my new ecosystem.
Corridors filled, rooms were assigned, and traps slotted neatly into place: collapsing bridges over lava pits, heat‑flash vents, and flame jets hidden behind carvings.
As my various mental sub‑processes bickered and fine‑tuned everything, I felt myself relax for the first time in… maybe ever. I was busy, but in a good way. Competent. In control.
Naturally, it didn’t last.
An alert pinged at the edge of my awareness. A group – or maybe an entire guild party, judging by the clustered signatures – had just stepped through the entrance to my first floor.
My core raced with excitement.
I immediately used Spatial Movement, blinking from the Red‑Hot Hell down to the first floor to get a front‑row seat.
These adventurers didn’t stumble in like clueless newbies. They moved with purpose, formation neat, weapons ready, eyes scanning the walls. Even when they split into three separate teams to scout different branches, their spacing and signalling were coordinated.
They actually knew what they were doing.
Which, of course, made watching what happened next all the more entertaining.