The market was thriving with the trade of materials, and the results were nothing short of spectacular.
Making the monsters inside the labyrinth drop items had proven surprisingly simple. The dryads, led by Treyni, handled the task with precision. Their method was straightforward yet efficient: they compelled the newly spawned monsters to swallow the items whole. It sounded difficult, but under their control, it became routine.
Finding where monsters would appear within the labyrinth could have been painstaking—but it wasn't necessary. The flow of magicules on each floor was carefully controlled by specialized pipelines. We had constructed rooms on the fifth floor and below specifically for these channels, creating designated spaces where monsters
would spawn in abundance—what we called the monster rooms.
Treyni and her team of labyrinth managers distributed the items I prepared across each room and released the monsters to consume them. Managing every single monster across the labyrinth would have been impossible, but narrowing the focus to these monster rooms made the task effortless. Creatures appearing in corridors carried nothing—they were simply blanks.
This system allowed us to deploy item-bearing monsters efficiently, floor by floor.
The monster rooms were not just practical—they were a controlled trap in their own right. Unlucky challengers wandering into these densely packed rooms would be met with danger, increasing tension naturally.
Meanwhile, the promise of profit from the labyrinth drew attention.
"The appraisers are in for a windfall," I observed calmly, surveying the activity. "They earn only a silver per session, yet the line stretches endlessly."
Every day brought a constant flow of supplies: preserved fruit juice, milk, low-tier potions, and other essentials, alongside perishable goods that demanded appraisal. Even the failed attempts by Kurobee's students—roughly forged weapons and imperfect gear—were sold at a discount. It might appear wasteful, but it was deliberate: reinvesting a portion of revenue to attract and retain challengers.
And there were jackpots. Occasionally, masterworks from Kurobee's disciples would appear among the items, drawing awe and admiration. The number of challengers proudly displaying their rare finds skyrocketed.
The labyrinth's operation was thriving. The town and the labyrinth itself buzzed with energy.
"The ninety-fifth floor is fully operational," Ramiris reported, her tone triumphant, and everyone nodded in acknowledgment.
We had opened a new inn there, strategically placed near the stairs. Its unusual door bore the inscription "Inn," and a bell summoned a labyrinth manager to guide visitors. Access cost three silver coins, the same as the labyrinth's entry fee. For those who had been fighting relentlessly, this small cost was negligible. Most challengers accepted it gladly.
The labyrinth's structure constantly shifted every two to three days, making navigation treacherous. Only a handful of people could find their way to the tenth floor in a single day. Spirit communication from those adept with magic offered some assistance, but even that had limits. Most challengers were forced to spend nights within the labyrinth itself.
"This is my first time camping like this," Masayuki muttered, clearly exhausted.
"I suppose the novelty is one thing," I said, my voice carrying authority, "but the cold stone floors will not forgive weakness. Fatigue and exposure are real threats here."
Jinrai and the others tolerated it better, though Masayuki visibly struggled with the harsh conditions. Even Jiwu, despite her youth and size, did not complain—but she kept watch diligently.
"I understand. It must have been difficult," I added, more as observation than empathy.
"Don't make it sound like it's nothing! I'm not sleeping like that again," Masayuki grumbled, recalling the night's hardship.
These modern challengers were unaccustomed to such challenges. It wasn't limited to otherworlders; even locals found themselves ill-prepared. A room with a treasure chest was of little use without someone keeping watch. Many adventurers wandered the labyrinth without rest, making the availability of a proper inn invaluable.
Even items that seemed trivial played a role. Food, bedding, gear maintenance, and replacements limited how much could be carried, forcing challengers to make difficult decisions. Running out of food might compel them to turn back, though some monsters were edible. Water could be replenished with magic. And even the Resurrection Bracelet offered a safety net against death—though there was always the risk of losing items.
The introduction of the Return Whistle became a significant selling point, giving challengers a safe method to exit with all their spoils. This encouraged careful planning and resource management, leading to a natural reliance on inns.
With a safe resting place available for three silver coins—equal to the labyrinth's entry fee—travelers could reduce their burden and focus on exploration. The inns were modest: divided by gender, featuring nothing more than a bed, akin to a capsule hotel.
The treants managed these establishments, training new employees in cleaning, laundry, cooking, and serving. Trainees who passed the tests were eventually assigned to surface operations.
Despite the simplicity, challengers flocked to the inns. Safety and convenience outweighed any shortcomings. Additional services were available for those willing to pay: laundry for three silver, public baths for three silver, gear cleaning and repair for five silver. In the labyrinth, constant combat left everyone covered in blood and sweat—especially troublesome for women, making baths particularly desirable.
Revenue inside the labyrinth far exceeded that of the surface, and profit margins were exceptional. Even if the inn was used simply for a break, the availability of clean facilities and secure rest was invaluable.
Masayuki's observations confirmed the importance of these amenities. The labyrinth lacked bathrooms, and challengers often had to endure extreme conditions. Slimes and other monsters would consume waste, keeping the labyrinth clean. Every shift in the labyrinth's structure eliminated excess debris. Despite this, the lack of proper sanitation and vulnerability to attacks made the inns indispensable.
Even skilled magic users relied on the inns. Spells like Health Care or Clean Wash could help manage bodily functions, but they had limits—often around three days. Any extended journey without support became a precarious gamble.
Thus, the labyrinth inns became essential, ensuring challengers could maintain focus, safety, and stamina while navigating the ever-changing perils below.
As it stood, the management of the labyrinth was running remarkably smoothly.
Myourmiles entered the room, a gleam of pride in his eyes as he unfurled the income report. "Everything is progressing exceptionally well, Your Majesty. Revenue continues to climb steadily. Even after accounting for necessary expenses, including the loot items distributed throughout the labyrinth, our profits remain healthy. Our current return on investment is about ten percent. We are aiming for twenty. Judging by the growth in users, I am confident we will reach it soon."
I nodded, observing the numbers with measured approval. Hmm… everything is roughly as expected.
The calculation valued the loot at its market price, not its production cost. The true profit margin was even higher. Furthermore, the residents working in the city were unpaid; all revenue flowed directly into the state treasury.
"It seems prudent to increase my investments," I said, my tone calm but decisive.
"If we increase investment, it may take a little longer before the country becomes fully profitable, but it will not be long before we break even," Myourmiles replied.
Pure profit alone was not enough to establish a legitimate nation. We could have simply sold our goods at high prices, but that would have produced nothing more than a wealthy city-state. A kingdom needed order, labor, and purpose. It required a system where every citizen could work with pride, contributing to a greater whole. It was my responsibility as king to ensure that their labor was meaningful and their lives fulfilling.
"That said," I continued, my voice carrying the weight of authority, "we cannot remain stagnant with the current system."
"But… not paying anyone is… problematic," Myourmiles said, hesitating.
"In truth, we have the resources to pay every citizen a salary comparable to the average wage in Blumund," he added, offering a bitter smile. "It is simply that most have chosen not to accept it."
I considered his words. As a merchant, Myourmiles would never work for free. I understood that deeply. Relying solely on food, clothing, and shelter as compensation was bordering on exploitation. We had maintained their loyalty, but fairness demanded more. They deserved remuneration for their efforts.
I reflected on the situation, my mind analyzing every facet with strategic precision. Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, had been managing this seamlessly on my behalf. Thanks to his oversight, no complaints had surfaced. However, this was a matter that would eventually require discussion with Rigurd and the other three high officials.
The labyrinth's profits were substantial, but a kingdom was more than its treasury. It was about order, structure, and the people who made it thrive. Ensuring that the citizens felt recognized, valued, and motivated was as critical as the gold flowing in from the labyrinth.
And as their king, it was my duty to guide them, not only in survival but toward greatness.