A week had passed since the seed had found its way into the dungeon, and The Golem’s Gambit was thriving. The changes to the first floor had been well received, and adventurers of all skill levels were flocking to test their abilities on the mechanized cart tracks. The dungeon’s waiting area had become a bustling hub of activity, where teams eagerly exchanged strategies, watched others who would attempt the course, and competed in arcade games while awaiting their turn.

  Brent floated in the Dungeon Core Chamber, his gaze sweeping over the tracks through his Dungeon Vision. From his elevated perspective, he could see teams roaring down the Rolling Stones track, narrowly dodging massive boulders, while others skidded through the Winter Wonderland, their tires kicking up snow and ice. The most daring adventurers had begun attempting speed runs, pushing themselves to shave precious seconds off their times.

  It wasn’t just the adventurers improving—the minions had begun perfecting their tactics as well. Ferron had fine-tuned the dungeon’s mechanical systems, ensuring the traps operated with peak efficiency. Kagejin had become a living nightmare to unprepared teams, striking from the shadows with increasing precision. Even Ignarok had developed a knack for launching well-timed fireballs, catching reckless drivers off guard.

  Brent swelled with pride. This was what he had envisioned when he first began crafting this dungeon—a place of challenge, excitement, and innovation. The first-floor changes had been a huge success, and the second-floor remained as thrilling as ever. The leaderboard in the waiting area displayed times that had gradually improved, showcasing just how much adventurers had adapted to the challenges.

  Most exciting of all, the token exchange counter had gained traction. Adventurers were starting to value the tokens more than traditional treasure chests, using them to collect powerful rewards they could choose themselves. Brent had even noticed repeat adventurers, those who came back again and again, determined to earn more tokens for better prizes.

  Everything seemed to be going smoothly.

  At least, on the surface.

  Deep within the shadows of the dungeon, not everyone was content.

  Unseen by Brent, Shadow had grown increasingly detached from the others. He still performed his duties, of course—but his enthusiasm had waned. The mechanical trickster lingered in the dark corners of the dungeon, watching, waiting. His usual sharp-witted remarks had become fewer, his presence more elusive.

  The seed still rested in the depths of his chamber. He had examined it many times over the past week, turning it over in his hands, feeling the strange energy humming within. It called to him. Whispered to him.

  Yet, he had said nothing.

  He had observed Brent’s unwavering excitement, his dedication to making the dungeon more accessible, more entertaining. And Shadow had begun to resent it.

  A dungeon wasn’t supposed to be a place of entertainment. It was supposed to be a place of danger, of chaos, of survival. And yet, Brent was building something that welcomed adventurers rather than truly testing them. The minions had stopped seeing the intruders as enemies to be crushed and had instead become part of some... elaborate game.

  Shadow couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

  And he was starting to wonder if Brent was wrong, too.

  Back in the Dungeon Core Chamber, Brent was completely unaware of the unease festering in the shadows. He was too busy reviewing the dungeon’s growth, his mind buzzing with ideas for future expansions.

  Emil stood beside him, arms crossed. “You’ve done well, Brent,” he admitted. “The dungeon’s popularity has exploded. We’ve had to expand the waiting areas just to accommodate all the teams lining up.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Brent grinned. “Yeah, it’s been incredible. I mean, did you see that last team? They actually used the magnetic field in the Magnetic Mayhem Arena to slingshot their cart past a trap. People are getting creative with how they handle the course!”

  Emil smirked. “That’s what happens when you give them a challenge worth mastering. And the best part? You’re raking in Dungeon Points from all these runs.”

  Brent opened his status screen, confirming it. His DP reserves were higher than ever, thanks to the sheer number of adventurers coming through.

  “At this rate, we could start considering the next phase of expansion,” Emil continued. “Or invest in more prizes for the token exchange. Maybe even introduce a new leaderboard for most tokens earned rather than just fastest times.”

  Brent nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, we’ll have to start looking into all of that.”

  From their perspective, everything was perfect.

  In the deepest shadows of the Room of Illusions, where light flickered and reality twisted upon itself, something stirred.

  The seed—small, inconspicuous, forgotten in the darkness—had been silently absorbing the energy around it, feeding on the latent magic of the dungeon. More than that, it had fed on Shadow’s emotions. His resentment, his frustration, his quiet unrest had all seeped into the seed, nurturing it in a way no ordinary soil ever could.

  And now, at last, it was ready.

  A faint crack echoed in the silence.

  The seed shuddered, its surface splitting ever so slightly as jagged lines raced across its shell. A second crack, louder this time, and a sliver of something dark and glistening pushed outward from within. The husk trembled, then ruptured completely, shards of its casing scattering onto the cold dungeon floor.

  From the broken shell, a twisted sprout slithered free.

  It was no ordinary plant—its stem was a deep, bruised purple, slick and pulsing like a living vein. It writhed as it emerged, stretching upward as though tasting the air for the first time. Thick, black roots spread outward from its base, burrowing into the stone floor, anchoring themselves into the very foundation of the dungeon.

  The sprout twisted, curled, and stretched.

  It grew at an unnatural pace, elongating into a writhing stalk, its surface covered in thorn-like protrusions that exuded a faint, sickly glow. Vines coiled outward, creeping along the floor, climbing the walls like grasping fingers.

  The energy it radiated was wrong.

  Malevolent.

  Where most plants reached toward sunlight, this one shrank from the light, curling into the darkest corners of the room, its pulsing, luminescent veins casting eerie shadows. The air around it felt heavy, thick with something unspoken—a quiet hunger that had no name.

  Then, at the top of its growing stalk, something shifted.

  A bulbous mass formed, swelling unnaturally, its surface twitching as if something moved inside. With a final, sickening shudder, the mass peeled open like a blooming flower—but instead of petals, it revealed a grotesque, bark-like face.

  And then, it opened its eyes.

  Twin red lights flared to life in the darkness, burning with an unnatural glow. The creature’s form settled, its presence now fully realized. It took its first breath—a deep, rattling exhale that carried a whisper of something ancient, something ominous.

  The dungeon did not recognize it, for it was born in the dungeon.

  It was not one of Brent’s creations.

  And yet, it was here.

  Unnoticed.

  Waiting.