***Dungeon Creatures’ POV***

A simple vole chewed on some plant roots, then scampered toward another of his kind. Some very brief and primitive socialization took place before the two creatures separated again. For a few minutes, the vole tried to follow his instincts to dig a shallow burrow. However, the hole kept filling itself in, which was frustrating.

Another vole sensed that he was upset, and came over to groom him and calm him down. It was very relaxing.

If he thought it through, he would understand that nothing here preyed on voles and that he was protected by the dungeon; there was no particular need for a burrow. Even so, it would have been preferable to have one.

Giving up on that endeavor, for now, the vole decided to look around for a mate. He would spend the rest of his life with her, so she ought to be someone special. The vole found that special someone. She was beautiful and attractive. They fell in love right away. Hours passed, and they bore many children together. He helped her to raise the pups. Thanks to the dungeon, they grew up quick and healthy. He groomed his mate and was groomed in return, and they shared each other’s feelings, and all was good in the world.

And then, the vole felt as though a cool breeze were blowing through him. He felt lighter, and it was strange. Then, in the next instant, he felt himself disappearing. He was left with only the briefest moment in which to feel fear before subliming into a burst of glowing blue specks. His mate began to grieve, but she followed him immediately after, along with many of their children who had already grown into parents themselves.

The Dungeon Bat, who was stationed in the second room, watched what happened with sharp eyes. He had already seen this sort of scene come to pass many times. The dungeon had destroyed them, perhaps because they had grown too numerous. The Dungeon Bat was still the only one of his kind, so he wasn’t worried about being destroyed himself. Of course, if it were possible, he’d want to live more. He also wanted to hunt the small creatures, but the dungeon had ordered that he restrain himself.

The Dungeon Bat understood three things about the dungeon: first, it was his creator, and his home; second, if the core was destroyed, the world would end; and third, it would continue to grow, on and on, forever. The Dungeon Bat snorted, thinking that the dungeon should spend some time making offspring, instead of only growing itself. He would like a kinsman to mate with. Would the dungeon make one for him? That would be good. He would be patient and obedient in order to assure that. He would protect the core.

***Archimedes’ POV***

Archimedes had completed his third room, which meant there was now room to place a new puzzle at its entrance. As for what that puzzle should be, he hadn’t decided yet. There were an awful lot of door puzzles so far, but it wasn’t too unusual for dungeons to have entire floors that followed a single gimmick. Archimedes had never seen a dungeon that wasn’t himself, but he had heard plenty about them from adventurers who challenged him over the millennia.

The reason for keeping to one theme was because it was easy. It made it easy to build the floor and to maintain it after. All the calculations related to that floor would be similar, and there were often shortcuts that the dungeon core could use when performing calculations that concerned it.

No matter how big Archimedes got, it would never become easier to manage his first floor. What would be a good analogy for a biological creature? Every time he grew a new floor, he would also grow a new brain to manage it. There were some flaws with that analogy, but it was close enough. Anyway, the “new brain” might be superior to the “old brain,” but so was the new floor superior to the old floor. The “new brain” wouldn’t have any processing power left over to manage overflow from the old floor, so it was best to make each individual floor easy to manage.

What on earth was the dungeon core managing? Well, everything. It couldn't be overstated: a dungeon core controls everything within the dungeon-- even gods cannot interfere. That also meant that everything that gods typically managed had to be taken over by the dungeon core: the flow of time, the laws of physics, object permanence, everything. The sheer number of things that had to be accounted for were so many that they would never fit onto any reasonable status screen; thus they had been reduced down to one innate ability: Dungeon Authority.

There was a lot to do, so Archimedes left as much as possible to his automatic processing. There was a multitude of default values that were perfectly fine to leave as-is. For example, the fact that his walls and floors didn’t acknowledge changes made by his creatures as valid, and immediately repaired the holes they dug. If Archimedes wanted to, he could allow them to change his terrain, but there was no need, so he didn’t.

Well, no matter what kind of language was used to make dungeon cores sound all-powerful, the fact of the matter was that any changes he wanted to make would require mana, which he was certainly not in excess of.

But, back to the matter at hand, he needed to think of a new puzzle. Perhaps… Yes, perhaps something to test the challenger’s knowledge on dungeons.

He had a good idea, but he couldn’t think of any way to implement it purely through mechanical means. It would be necessary to put a pattern on the door that would monitor for the correct input. Well, he would manage somehow, thanks to his dungeon hack. First, he would create the puzzle, and then he would make it function.

Archimedes attached a set of double doors at the end of the third hall. He carved the door with around fifty tiles, which could each be pressed like buttons, thanks to a simple spring and clasp combination. On each of the tiles, he carved simple shapes: circles, squares, stars, hearts, crescent moons, human silhouettes, and outlines of various other well-known things. However, there were three carvings of circles: a small circle, a medium circle, and a large circle. This was the only hint the challenger could pick up on. If they understood dungeons, then it would be enough.

With the door built, Archimedes created a door bar to lock it in place. He would have to accumulate about, say, four-thousand mana before he could create the pattern to finish it off. This pattern needed to keep track of which buttons were pushed in which order, so it cost far more than the simple "Increased light: yes or no?" pattern he'd made just before. Archimedes observed the mana potions he had saved up and decided that it would be more efficient to allow them to reproduce for a while more before harvesting a large number of them. Rather, it would be better to keep regularly harvesting them as he had been. That way, his gains would remain fairly constant.

The long ear boy had already come and gone again by the time Archimedes had gathered enough mana. The boy was carefully keeping track of all the combinations he’d tried, but he was working in a completely wrong direction, so Archimedes felt that he still had some time, unless the boy finally brought someone to help him.

So, with that out of the way, and no outsiders present, Archimedes carefully assembled the pattern to put on the door. Although it cost a ridiculous amount, the function was quite simple: open the door if the key tiles are pressed in the correct order. If a mistake is made, freeze until it’s possible to reset.

Congratulations! Dungeon core Archimedes has registered a new Puzzle! New Puzzle registered: Double-Door Button Sequence Puzzle (dungeon core growth)

Now he could switch gears, again, to expanding. There wasn’t technically a maximum size for any given floor of a dungeon. Once Archimedes was unable to manage any more additions, he would have to stop expanding. Currently, he had three halls, three rooms, a Biome, four puzzles, and many lifeforms.

At this rate, hm, I should be able to handle things up to a fifth room.

Beyond that, he would force himself into a vegetative state if he tried to continue. Instead of doing something stupid like that, he would just create his second floor instead.

***Anther’s POV***

“A dungeon?” Myla raised her eyebrows. “You found a dungeon?”

“Yes, exactly!” Anther bobbed his head. “I’ve been trying to tell people for days now, but every time I try, something gets in the way!”

“What’s with that?” Myla shook her head. “Does Kasser know?”

Anther sighed, “He left already.”

“Well, did you try going inside?”

“I tried to, but there’s a door in the way. I have to solve a puzzle to open it. It’s actually pretty hard.”

Myla hummed and tapped her foot. “I’d like to see it, but I already had plans for today. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

Anther hung his head, but he quickly pulled himself together. “Alright. If you see Kasser in the meantime, let him know about the dungeon. It would be great if we could all go see it together.”

“That sounds good,” Myla smiled. “Well then, I’m going to go out for a bit. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you later, Myla,” Anther waved the girl off.

My luck seems kind of good today. Should I try telling someone else?

At least his mother should know about the dungeon. Feeling optimistic, Anther walked to Anniil’s house and peeked his head inside.

“Mother? You’ll never guess what--”

“--Shush, sweetie,” he was promptly interrupted. “Mother is divining right now.”

Upon looking closer, Anther could see his mother seated at the table, with a small black dish placed in front of her. The dish was filled with water, or something similar, and Anniil was staring at it intently.

Anther frowned at his bad luck and pulled his head back, closing the curtain properly. If the chance ever presented itself, he would tell her for sure, but since right now was no good, he would just go to visit the dungeon again. It would be nice if he could solve the door puzzle before Myla and Kasser came to see it; that way they could all take a look at the inside.

He already had everything he needed, so the boy trotted on up the mountain. At the dungeon entrance, he glanced once again at the plaque above the door. It really isn’t kidding. If there are more puzzles this hard inside, it really will take a sage to solve all of them.

Anther didn’t think he was a sage, but he didn’t think he was a brute or a fool either. That should mean that he wouldn’t be welcomed inside, but he wouldn’t be driven off either. In that case, he just had to use his own ability to slowly earn passage.

The boy pulled out his notebook and started trying patterns he hadn’t before. Over and over, hopeful to have the door open before his friends could come. After many attempts, he found a lucky combination. The tiles were all in place, and there was a satisfying thump from the door unlocking. The door which had once said “Closed” in bold letters, now invited him with an ornate “Open.”

Before going inside, Anther quickly jotted down the solution to the puzzle. He put his notebook away in his sack and strung his short bow, just in case. Only then was he daring enough to push on the thick stone doors, his heart pounding and his eyes wide open.

A refreshing wind blew out from the gap between the doors. Anther’s emerald eyes trembled and his lips parted in shock. The scent of a positively ancient forest tickled his nose. He was enveloped by the most intense mana he had ever encountered; it felt like he had stepped into the nexus from which all life flowed. The boy couldn’t help but close his eyes and immerse himself in that feeling for almost a dozen minutes.

Finally, with a shaky breath, the young elf forced his eyes open and took a look at the scenery in front of him. Faint blue light emanated from moss on the ceiling. There were puddles of crystal blue water here and there that reflected the light, and thick foliage grew between them. The space was shaped like a simple tunnel, but it was reasonably spacious.

Anther’s eyes fell on a set of double doors at the back of the tunnel and felt quite complicated. After finally solving one puzzle, he was immediately faced with another. But, he was incredibly curious, what amazing things were behind the second door? The entrance was already… spectacular.

After looking around, he took his first step inside. There were animals in here, but there didn’t seem to be any monsters. There weren’t even any dangerous animals like snakes. In fact, far from dangerous, some of the plants he saw were valuable herbs, and there were rabbits with beautiful black and grey fur that barely tried to hide from him.

“It’s beautiful,” Anther murmured, looking up as if the dungeon had its eyes and ears on its ceiling. “You’re really, really beautiful.”

He took another shaky breath, then had a question. “I wonder if I’m allowed to take any of this? It feels kind of wrong…” Anther shook his head and smiled mildly. “It would be wrong after all, huh? I’ll have to bring the others to see this.”

Feeling thrilled and utterly satisfied, Anther turned around and trotted out of the dungeon. This place was more incredible than he thought. Even if he had to be rude and force his voice through, he wanted everybody to see it for themselves!

***Archimedes’ POV***

When Archimedes felt his first puzzle door open, he experienced shock. He had turned his attention away because, from what he’d seen, the long ear boy was nowhere close to solving it. When he examined the state of the door, he realized that it had been solved via a fourth method that Archimedes himself had not discovered.

Looks like I have less time than I thought. It was his own fault for miscalculating, so he could only regret it.

As for the long ear boy, he was stopped at the entrance. Archimedes hadn’t allowed the Fertile Cave Biome to extend past the first puzzle, so this was the child’s first time encountering it. He seemed to be stunned.

The boy closed his eyes, and his mana began behaving strangely. It seemed to be reaching out from his body and lapping against the mana in the dungeon.

Gek! Disgusting!

Archimedes was hit by a sensation like being licked. He wanted to itch at the part of his body that had been bizarrely violated, but the ambient mana there was weakly resisting his control. Some time passed before the long ear opened his eyes and the strange feeling went away.

The way these creatures charm mana really is loathsome. I hate long ears, he thought, while evening out his mana distribution. Archimedes watched his visitor with some suspicion while he examined the first hallway. Just when he was questioning why the creature didn’t just come inside, he opened his mouth ever so slightly.

“It’s beautiful.” The boy looked up at his ceiling, “You’re really, really beautiful.”

Archimedes was stunned. For a moment, the calculations he had constantly running in the background were stopped.

W-what did he say?

Beautiful? He was beautiful? That was… nonsense. In his past life, Archimedes had carved out spectacles that no human would ever be able to see outside. He had once made a dragon habitat in the form of twin mountain peaks: one reaching up to pierce the heavens; the other reaching down from a reversed land in the sky. The dragon breath shattering the waterfalls had cast ghostly mist and glittering rainbows in between the two. It was an environment that was profoundly hostile to humans, yet divinely enchanting. Even so, never had Archimedes been called beautiful. The humans who had seen those scenes had merely gritted their teeth and focused on their own survival.

The difference in a place meant to take one’s life and a benevolent place was undoubtedly great, but was it impactful to such an extent? A narrow cave with but a few decorations was hardly worth celebrating. That should be the case.

That’s right. My current state is hardly something I can proudly show to others. This long ear boy is the strange one for evaluating the looks of a dungeon.

Archimedes thought he saw the faint outline of a window trying to form, but it broke apart before displaying any words. Archimedes furrowed his eyebrows (figuratively speaking) and watched that spot for a moment, but the long ear boy spoke again and stole his attention.

“I wonder if I’m allowed to take any of this? It feels kind of wrong…”

He wasn’t going to take any rewards from the dungeon? That settled it: this boy was a complete misfit. Archimedes wished he had eyes to roll. Would he have to put up a message to let people know that it was fine to forage a little when they made it past a puzzle?

“I’ll have to bring the others to see this,” the boy said suddenly.

Archimedes’ mood plummeted. So there are others. It would seem he had much less time than he thought.

___________________

Costs (Compressed):

Spoiler: Spoiler

Monsters (per 1)

Dungeon Bat: 130 / 7 min | Wolfbat: 30 / 5 min

Animals (per 1)

(Omitted)

Plants (per 1 or per 1 square meter as appropriate)

(Omitted)

Fungi (per 1 or per 1 square meter as appropriate)

(Omitted)

Materials (per 10cm x 1meter x 1meter / real-time)

Fresh Air: 23 | Live-Giving Water: 41 | Vivacious Soil: 34 | (Lesser Materials Omitted)

Constructs (per 1 / real-time)

(Omitted)

Puzzles

(Omitted)

Biomes

Fertile Cave