Chapter 5
After splitting up, each group lost at least two members. By the time they regrouped near the boss room, only three people remained in each squad – nine adventurers in total. They were still organised, with one healer and two fighters per team, but against my traps and undead, it hadn’t been enough.
Now they huddled in the corridor outside Makkura’s arena, low on potions and nerves, arguing in hoarse voices. I watched from my interface as they pointed at the doors, sketched plans in the dust, then paused for a quick snack break. It was almost domestic – if you ignored the blood and scorch marks.
Someone eventually noticed the chest I’d left tucked into a shadowed alcove opposite the boss doors: a long, low box of blackened wood banded with dull silver.
“Might as well see what we get before we die,” one fighter joked, trudging over.
This one I had trapped… sort of.
The rogue intercepted him, kneeling to examine the hinges. “Give me a second. Last thing we need is a fireball to the face before the boss fight.”
He checked for wires, runes, hidden plates in the floor. Nothing obvious. The healer muttered a detection spell and frowned.
“No harmful magic,” she said. “Actually, there’s… something supportive?”
That was their cue.
They backed up a step as the rogue eased the lid open.
A faint blue mist curled out, sinking into their armour and weapons. The healer gasped and started a detox spell on instinct.
Before I could panic, the DMI chimed in.
“Minor enhancement only. Attack and defence increased ten percent for thirty minutes,” it reported calmly.
“Oh,” I said. “Right. That.”
The party straightened as the buff settled over them, shoulders squaring, eyes sharpening.
“For once, the dungeon’s on our side,” one of the fighters said, managing a shaky grin.
I didn’t bother correcting him.
The chest’s visible contents were modest: a couple of mid‑grade potions, three gleaming mana crystals, and a single silver coin with a strange labyrinth sigil stamped into it. The rogue pocketed the coin for luck.
Boosted, patched up as best they could, and just a tiny bit more hopeful, they turned back to the looming double doors.
Eventually, they pushed them open and stepped into Makkura’s domain.
They looked around in open awe at the towering black‑brick pillars, the eerie blue flames, and the shadows pooling in the corners of the arena. For a brief moment, they forgot their fear.
Makkura ruined that for them.
He dropped from the high ceiling like a living shadow, wings flaring wide, and snatched one of the healers in his jaws before anyone could scream. With a single beat of his wings, he vanished back into the dark rafters, leaving only a spray of blood and a fallen staff.
“Formation!” the remaining healer shouted, desperately trying to pull everyone into line.
He didn’t get to finish.
A torrent of blue fire roared down from above, swallowing him whole. When the flames died away, only blackened bones clattered to the floor.
Panic shattered what was left of their discipline.
Some of the adventurers screamed and tried to flee. Others charged blindly, slashing swords and swinging staves at shadows, scrambling to cast spells with trembling hands. They managed to land a few desperate hits – singed scales here, a shallow cut there – and for a moment they thought they were winning.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Then they got overconfident.
Makkura slammed his massive body into the ground.
The impact shook the entire arena. Blue flames guttered and flared as the stone floor cracked. The shockwave knocked every adventurer off their feet, sending weapons and shields skittering across the tiles.
Before they could recover, he exhaled.
A wide, searing torrent of blue flame washed over the arena, turning armour red‑hot and melting flesh from bone. The last of their screams echoed off the dark walls, then faded into silence. When the flames finally died down, all that remained were charred corpses and drifting embers.
I felt a sharp stab of guilt at the sound of their terror and agony. They’d fought hard. They’d made it all the way to my boss room. But if I didn’t kill them… I’d die just the same.
The guilt lasted a few minutes.
Then I noticed my PT counter.
I had earned 2,000 PT from that party alone.
New notifications flashed in front of me.
(-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Evil‑Doer]] --) (-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Necromancer]] --)
Apparently, killing that many healers in my dungeon had tipped some cosmic scale. Between my undead‑filled floors and my shiny new necromancer title, another message appeared:
(SKILL acquired [[Shaman]])
The explanation window popped up immediately: [[Shaman]] allowed me to use dead adventurers as active monsters.
Well.
That was… dark.
And efficient.
I activated the skill.
Above each corpse in the arena – burnt armour, scattered bones, crumpled robes – a faint icon appeared in my vision: [[Spirit Needed]]. The DMI helpfully informed me that I could purchase “spirits” as items in the shop.
Before I could even think about it, my PT manager bought a batch of them.
“Hey—!” I started.
Too late.
While I was still mentally spluttering, a new idea occurred to me. If I was already delegating PT and monster management, why not automate skill usage too? I split off another fragment of my consciousness: a skill manager whose sole job would be to activate any skill the instant I even thought about using it.
Yes, I was becoming a complete lazybones.
No, I did not regret it.
After greeting my new parallel brain – who introduced himself as the skill manager, which was very unnecessary given his whole deal – he got to work immediately. The moment I focused on [[Shaman]], he triggered it without hesitation.
All seven spirits I had just bought dissolved into pale light and streamed into the corpses below.
Five of the bodies lit up at once. One, the ashen skeleton left from the healer who had been incinerated, drank in multiple spirits at once, its bones glowing a deep, unsettling red. The two dead warriors were quietly added to my existing collection of natural undead: skeletons, ghouls, the usual. The one with three spirits, however, changed differently.
A new window appeared:
((NEW MONSTER CREATED: [[Alchemical Mob]])) (-- You have achieved the TITLE [[Alchemist]] --)
Apparently, according to both the DMI and my split consciences, I had just “created my own monster from scratch.”
“The newly made ‘Hell’s Lich,’ as I have named it, will become my second‑floor boss once the Red‑Hot Hell is complete!” I announced grandly. “For now, he’ll stay here in the core room.”
As if in response, a customisation screen popped up in front of me.
I had to pick his monster type (obviously I chose Elder Lich), his elemental affinity (flame, of course), and his official name.
The arena darkened as the new boss took shape.
The creature that rose from the charred bones was a towering, four‑armed elder lich. Black‑as‑soot bone gleamed beneath freshly conjured robes embroidered with glowing crimson runes. In each of his four skeletal hands, he held a staff wreathed in dancing flame. Red‑white fire burned in the hollow sockets of his eyes as he dropped to one knee before my core projection.
“You, the strongest monster in the Red‑Hot Hell, will be called Kuroe,” I declared.
“It is my greatest honour to serve under you, master Yuuno,” he said piously, bowing even lower. “Your magnificence is beyond measure.”
I stared at him in silence.
“He’s that one suck‑up subordinate archetype, isn’t he?” I thought to myself.
For the next few days, I had to endure Kuroe’s constant flattery while also listening to the usual arguments in my head and continuing construction on the second floor. We added more fire‑based traps to the Red‑Hot Hell, mixed in with ordinary pitfalls, arrow launchers, and a few especially nasty surprises.
“Would you care for some tea, master?” asked the pompous elder lich one afternoon, gliding up to my core chamber with an entirely unnecessary tray in his flaming hands.
I could not drink. I did not need to drink.
“No, but thank you for offering…” I replied dryly.
Kuroe bowed again, delighted, and drifted away, still muttering praises under his breath.
Somewhere deep in my core, I sighed.
I had a raid‑level boss wyvern, an overenthusiastic lich butler, four bickering personalities in my own head, and a dungeon that was rapidly turning into a death labyrinth.
And, against all odds, I was… kind of happy with that.