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**Dungeon Core**
**Owner:** Knox Light
**Information:**
A dungeon core linked to the newly rebirthed dungeon, Knox Light.
From: SA (System Administrator) [name redacted]
P.S. You should try to name your dungeon as soon as possible… but before you do—
You should **definitely** settle those pesky kobalts.
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Knox stared at the message until the words started to blur.
*System Administrator?*
The title alone sounded important. Like some cosmic moderator watching from behind a screen somewhere. And this one had noticed *him*. A brand-new, body-less, barely-level-1 dungeon.
A nervous flutter rippled through his core.
*Why me? What do they want? Are they… grading me or something?*
He had zero way to look them up. No wiki. No Google. Just the dark cave and a glowing blue heart that was apparently him.
Knox shoved the questions aside—for now.
Worrying about shadowy admins could wait.
The rustling couldn't.
A soft scrape echoed down the tunnel from the entrance chamber.
Claws on stone.
Sniffing.
Low, wet breathing.
Knox went still (as still as a floating consciousness could), hovering protectively over his own glowing core.
A small, ugly head poked through the rough archway that served as the core room's only door.
The creature was tiny—no more than four feet tall standing upright. Rough, mottled dark-green skin stretched tight over a scrawny frame. Patchy fur in clumps along its rat-like face and down its back. Long, twitching whiskers. Beady red eyes reflecting the faint blue glow of the core like dying coals.
A **kobalt**.
Not one of those scaly, dragon-worshipping kobolds from Earth fantasy novels.
No. These were different—mangier, more feral, like diseased hyena-rat-dog hybrids that had evolved (or devolved) in Titan's mana-soaked wilds. The author's own twisted breed.
This one was the lvl 1 gatherer from before. The weakest of the trio.
Still plenty capable of cracking open a fresh dungeon core and slurping out the insides like a boiled egg.
Knox's nonexistent stomach twisted.
*That thing better be glad I don't have legs right now, or I'd introduce it to ye olde size-12 steel-toe special.*
He caught himself mid-joke and mentally facepalmed.
*Why am I still cracking wise? This is literally life-or-death, you idiot.*
Focus.
Survive.
He scanned the core room desperately.
Rough semicircular walls. Moss-slick stone. Dripping stalactites hanging like jagged fangs from the ceiling.
Pitch black to normal eyes—but Knox saw everything in crisp grayscale detail, like the cave was wired directly to his brain.
Nothing useful. No weapons. No convenient sword rack.
Just rock… and more rock.
*Options? Slim. Ceiling spikes could maybe impale it if I could drop one—but the odds of a fatal hit are garbage.*
Then a memory from his old life sparked.
Guerrilla warfare.
The kind he'd read about in history books and watched in grainy Vietnam War documentaries.
Small, cunning traps. Attrition. Make the enemy pay for every step.
*Traps. I can make traps.*
He focused. Mana stirred inside him—cool and electric, like holding lightning in his veins.
**Dungeon Shaping** activated.
He spent 5 mana.
A section of floor ten feet in front of the core rippled like water, then sank silently.
Fifteen feet deep.
At the bottom: jagged stone spikes, needle-sharp, angled upward.
Over the top he stretched a fragile illusion of normal floor—stone only 0.35 millimeters thick, just enough to hold for half a second.
One wrong step…
Knox floated back, heart (core?) hammering.
*This had better work. Because if it doesn't, I'm pretty sure reincarnation doesn't come with a third strike.*
The kobalt finally stepped fully into the room.
It froze just inside the doorway—snout twitching, ears flicking, red eyes sweeping the darkness.
Its gaze locked onto the radiant blue sphere at the back.
The core pulsed softly, mana so dense it almost sang.
Most creatures felt that pull instinctively. A siren call of power. Greed. Hunger.
The kobalt hesitated. Cowardice warred with avarice.
It waited. Sniffed. Waited longer.
Five full minutes ticked by in agonizing silence.
Nothing moved.
No guardian. No owner.
The kobalt's whiskers quivered with decision.
*If it's just sitting there… unprotected… what's the harm in taking it?*
Greed won.
It scurried forward—three quick, greedy steps—
**CRACK.**
The thin stone cover shattered like glass.
The kobalt yelped once—a high, panicked bark—before plummeting.
Fifteen feet.
Onto waiting spikes.
A wet crunch.
A gurgling wheeze.
Then silence.
**Kobalt killed!!**
**(Gained DP) ×100**
A rush of euphoria flooded Knox's core—bright, electric, addictive.
*Holy crap… it actually worked!*
**Notification!!!**
*Dungeon core has gained 200 XP*
*You have leveled up!*
The blue status window refreshed itself with a satisfied chime.
**Dungeon System**
**Owner:** Knox Light
**Level:** 2 (0/400)
**Mana:** 345/500
**DP:** 100 (Dungeon Points)
**Protectors:** 0
**Intruders:** 3 ← still two more out there
**Abilities:** Mana Manipulation, Vassal Creation, Dungeon Shaping, Weaken Willpower
Knox hovered over the pit, staring down at the broken little body impaled below.
Two left.
Stronger ones.
But he wasn't helpless anymore.
He had points.
He had levels.
He had a trap that *worked*.
For the first time since waking up in the void, Knox felt something dangerously close to confidence.
*Okay, you ugly little bastards… round two.*
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**Author's Note**
I'm planning to put way more effort into this novel going forward.
The beginning felt rushed, and I think slowing down—really taking my time—will let me build the world and Knox's journey the way I actually want to see it unfold.
Good stories need solid footing.
Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in the next one :)
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