The next few days were exciting for once, so I got to spend some quality time out of my chest. Everyone's favorite king threw a massive party to introduce his new favorite toy to the nobles. Darron, for the most part, took it all in stride, but the poor guy isn't built for court life.

  The following morning, with sycophants in tow, the king marched his way down to the eighth floor. The trip down was rough for me, since the king fed me to the point of bursting. He wheezed as he rocked my stave from side to side, each step making me wish I could throw up.

  "Here. We. Are." The king says through haggard breaths, his fat face flushed red. "This will be. Your new home, my boy."

  I moan as my mana floods out of me. "Oh yeah, that's the stuff. God, that feels so much better." Pop's blue screen interrupts my moment of bliss, earning itself a very frustrated grunt from me. "What do you want, Pop? I'm in the middle of something here."

  Note: A new floor has been created.

  Dungeon points remaining: Information unavailable.

  Mana remaining: Information unavailable.

  New floor theme selected: Master craftsman's forge.

  New minions unlocked: Information unavailable, Information unavailable and Information unavailable.

  New resource nodes unlocked: Information unavailable and Information unavailable.

  New information added to user unnamed dungeon's profile: Mild masochistic tendencies.

  I scan the screen, not really paying attention to it until I get to the bottom. "Hey! Don't add that to my profile. I'm not a mild masochist!"

  Pop's screen clears and turns green.

  Information updated due to user request: User unnamed dungeon's profile has been changed from mild masochistic tendencies to masochist.

  "I swear. One of these days I'm going to Alt+F4 you so hard."

  Thanks to Pop's distraction and, quite frankly, incorrect evaluation of me, I missed the creation of the 9th floor. I'm sure the smarter of you are asking yourselves how that could have happened. "You've got that super awesome mana sense ability, don't you?" Bet you think you're pretty clever, don't you? Well, shut up. You try focusing on something while taking a massive dump. "But didn't they tour the new floor?" Nope, the king didn't want to get dirty. He basically pushed Darron down the stairs and headed back to the first floor.

  Yes, yes, I know. You want to know what the floor looks like. Don't worry, I've got you. On the way up, and after I was done yelling at Pop, I got a detailed description. It has an enormous central room with 8 smaller ones connected to its sides by narrow corridors. The center room has a forge, a smelter, a blast furnace and a huge anvil. Oh, and a little living space and kitchen.

  The rest of the rooms have resource nodes in them. There's a gold one and a silver one, iron and coal. All that good stuff, and yes, before you ask. There's a mythril node and an adamantium one too. All the classic fantasy metals in one place.

  Now I know what you're thinking. "How does Darron collect the ore?" To that, I can only say, are you still talking? I can't hear you over the hulking stone golems collecting it for him.

  As for Darron, he threw himself into his work, often smithing for days and days to make a single piece. I don't know much about metalwork, but credit where credit is due. The man has talent. Each new piece is more beautiful than the last. To no one's surprise, the king treasured each of these masterpieces. Or at least he did at first.

  The thing about Darron is that he's a perfectionist. Not in an, I have to have everything in its place kind of way. No, in an, I have a mental illness kind of way. No matter what he makes, it's never good enough. In my old world, we could have helped him with coping techniques, but in a medieval, magic world. Yeah, they don't care. What I'm trying to say is, he kept improving.

  I'm sure you can see what I'm getting at here. As the quality of Darron's work grew, those first pieces started to look a little shabby in comparison. But what's a king to do with a glut of masterworks? Yup, you guessed it. Gifts. At first, it was only for his inner circle, but in time, they became tributes to the surrounding kingdoms.

  Before you could say going viral, Darron was a household name. Which was great for me, because I got to spend more time out of my box. Every other day there would be some new noble from a far-off place begging the king to have his master craftsman create something for them. Our benevolent leader would of course allow it if the noble was important enough, and they had a fitting tribute.

  Darron, on the other hand, hated the commission work. The nobles always brought something rare they wanted him to use, but he wasn't about that. He wanted to let a material take the form it was supposed to. And thus began my new favorite pastime, watching Darron piss off the king.

  The two of them would fight for hours over every little detail. It was fantastic. Darron would almost always agree in the end, but he made the king earn every win. Now and then though, Darron would become obsessed with a new material and go against the request. Those fights were the stuff of legends. The king would be upset, his little face going red as he yelled at an apathetic Darron.

  As with anything so valuable and rare, there was a black market for Darron’s works. At first it was thieves and a few thugs, but those guys didn’t last long. The nobles had them all executed and took over the already established underground market. They’d package the pieces into fancy boxes and send them to foreign lands. The king, ever the greedy little piglet, upon hearing about this, cut out the middleman. With the help of some merchants in town, he created a shop where some pieces would be sold. Nothing new, only the less desirable pieces the king didn’t want, or no longer were up to his standards.

  Imagine for a second you're the king. A fat, stupid, jealous, self-obsessed dwarf whose entire self-worth is wrapped up in how others see you. You're sitting on your throne, handing over priceless masterworks to people far less important than you. Now imagine your kingdom's greatest treasure is a gaudy golden stave. What do you think you'd do?

  “Darron, my lad.” The king says with a cheesy smile. “I have a very special job for you.”

  Darron barely looks away from his work and lets out a sigh. “What do you need, King Brollyn? Is it another commission piece?”

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  The king chuckles, patting Darron on the back. “In a way, yes. I want you to reforge my dungeon core scepter.”

  Darron's eyes go wide. "Seriously?" He says, his hammer clattering to the ground as he jumps to his feet. "It's about time! I've wanted to fix that god awful thing since I first saw it."

  "Watch your tone, Darron. You might be the best smith in the world, but I'm still your king."

  Darron's shoulders slump as he lowers his head. "Right you are, Your Grace. Forgive me, I got a bit excited there."

  "It's fine, my boy." The king replies with a slight chuckle. "I agree the design is outdated, but it's served its kingdom well as a symbol of power."

  "Of Course my king. I meant no disrespect." Darron's eyes flick over to the worn metal plate tacked on to the bottom of my stave. "But the design is far too utilitarian for one such as you. At the very least, it could do with some optimisation. What changes did you want me to make?"

  "I need something I can use every day. Something elegant. A piece that would make another monarch green with envy."

  Darron nods, his thick fingers raking through his matted beard. "Shouldn't be too hard. What about the primary design elements?"

  The King drops a heavy hand on Darron's shoulder. "My boy, it's like you don't even know me. I want it dragon themed, of course. Other than that, you can go crazy."

  Darron looks up, meeting the king's eyes for the first time since he came in. "Go crazy? You're giving me full creative control?"

  "That I am. I want this to be your finest work. Cost is no issue. Use any material you want." The king passes me to the eager hands of Darron, who handles me with the reverence of a sacred artifact.

  "I can't believe this is happening. It's an honor I don't deserve." Darron says, his hands wrapping around my ornate stave.

  The king shakes his head and gives the blacksmith a soft smile. "Don't be stupid, my boy. This is your reward for all your hard work. You're the only one I'd trust with something like this."

  "Thank you, my king. Your faith in me fills me with pride." Darron takes a long breath, meeting the king's gaze with a steely glare. "I can have it done in 3 days."

  The king smiles at that and pats him on the back. “Take your time. I want this to be your finest work.”

  "It will be. This I swear. Your sceptre will be the envy of the gods."

  The king nods, wiping his hands on his pants as he heads back to the stairs. "One more thing, my boy. The core is cursed. If you don't want to die, don’t touch it with your bare hands. I’ve lost some good people to that thing."

  "I’ll be careful, Your Grace. Thank you for trusting me with this." Darron replies with all the grace he can muster.

  The king laughs again as he walks up the stairs. "Enough with the formalities. I'm trusting you with this kingdom's greatest treasure. You can call me Brollyn when it's just the 2 of us." Darron nods before placing my scepter on a table. “Of course, King Brollyn.” Darron says under his breath, causing the King to laugh again as he disappears up to the eighth floor.

  Darron's body relaxes as the king disappears onto the eighth floor. "Now then." He says, turning to the nearest golem. "Hey you! The one with the pickax." The large golem in front of him freezes in place, turning to face him. "Go make sure the king gets back to his floor." Darron orders with a bitter tone. The golem drops its tool and raises its right arm before trudging after the king.

  Darron nods, clearing his workspace with a sweep of his arm. The unfinished work clatters against the ground, a misshapen sword glowing red with heat from the forge. "I'll be with you in a second, just got to find the right piece." He says, lumbering over to a pile of ore in the corner. "Let's see here." One by one, he pulls pieces of the raw material from the pile, giving each a good once-over before discarding them.

  After what feels like forever, and with far too much muttering for my taste, Darron finds 2 pieces he likes the look of. "Sorry about that, Mr. Core. I haven't had a chance to organise this place yet." Darron says, placing the misshapen rock beside me on the table with me.

  "You're fine, my guy." I say, knowing full well he can't hear me. "It's nice to meet you, but Mr. Core was my father. Call me the unnamed dungeon."

  Heavy footsteps fill the air as the golem returns from its quest. "Did he get back up all right?" He asks, not looking up from the materials in front of him. The golem raises its right arm and drops it again. Darron lets out a long sigh as he stretches his body. “By the Gods that man is a nuisance. If this weren’t the only place in the world like this, I’d have left with those elves.”

  Darron holds the ore against my core, moving his head from side to side. “Oh yes, these will do. These will do nicely.” He says to himself. “Oh, don’t you worry, Mr. Core; your new home will be the stuff of legends!” He laughs, then picks up the larger of the two pieces of ore.

  As Darron walks toward a large cylinder, I get my first chance to look around the new floor. Unlike the last eight, this one is downright utilitarian. No decor, no pomp, just smooth dirt walls peppered with dull rocks. "Now this is a dungeon floor." I say, a giddy feeling tickling me as a hulking golem dumps more ore on the pile. "A core could get used to this."

  Darron yawns as he returns to my side. “Alright, let's get you out of that gods awful thing.” Darron says with a smile. With a flick of his wrists, his large leather gloves fly from his hands. "I'll start with that curse of yours." Darron's eyes grow black, making him look like a cheesy demon from a 90s movie. "Really? A force spell? You couldn't spring for a killing word?" Darron waves a finger, his eyes returning to normal a moment later. "Must have been a real shit enchanter to put that bad a spell on you." Darron chuckles, reclaiming one of his discarded gloves. "Nah, I bet it was that skinflint bastard's fault. He's the type to find a fledgling enchanter and get him to do it for exposure." Darron's chuckle grows to a laugh and then a cough. "Makes my life easier, at least. Now then, let's have a look at you, Mr. Core."

  With a grunt, he yanks me unceremoniously off of my sceptre and pulls me close to his face. "Excuse me, sir. I'm going to have a peek at that slave seal of yours." Darron's eyes grow dark again, and I can feel his gaze.

  "Whoa there, Kimosabe. By a core a drink first." I turn away from the blank stare of the dwarf, his gaze making me feel naked. "Whoa now, buddy. You're coming on a little strong there." As his face grows closer to me, my panic increases. "Cut it out, you weirdo. I might be a core, but there's a soul in here too." Darron doesn't listen, because he can't, and I get stuck reliving one of those dreams you have when you’re a kid. You know the ones. You're in front of the entire school in your underwear, and everyone's laughing.

  Darron coughs as his eyes return to normal. "Shit." He says with a grunt through his nose. “That’s one hell of a slave seal you've got there. If I had to guess, I'd say it's old Grandal’s work. The guy always was sloppy around the edges.” With a shake of his head, he places me down onto the table and rakes his fingers through his beard. "That’s the wrong seal for a core. Does this thing have a soul?" He places a finger on his temple and taps. "So that means... Hmm... But what if... Oh, OH! Now I get it." Darron claps his hands together, a mixture of a cough and laugh making his body shake. "Well now, Mr. Core. Aren’t you an interesting one?"

  "I've got no idea what you're talking about, dude. I've got to tell you, you're coming across as a little insane."

  Darron gets down to my level, his face so close the strands of his beard can poke at my core. “You'll have to forgive an old blacksmith his eccentricities. I haven’t had to think like a noble since I was in school.” Darron says, his voice adopting a noble tone. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Darron of house Dordor, the 11th son of Marques Dordor.” His posture changes to that of a refined noble as he bows. “And you, my friend, are the Great Bat's dungeon core.”

  "Wait, what? How could he know that? Is this guy part of some kind of plan? He has to be, right? Damn it all to hell, I hate never knowing what’s going on."

  Darron slaps his hand against his forehead. "It's so obvious. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before!" Darron says with a shake of his head. "Those elves played me. They knew this would happen."

  Darron smiles a genuine smile. Not one of the fake ones I've become accustomed to in the king's court. A real, honest to god smile. "Darron, I've got no idea what you're talking about, but I needed this. It's been a while since someone smiled at me like that."

  With a shake of his head, Darron returns to my side. "Sorry about that. You probably have no idea what’s going on right now, do you? Buckle up, it's a long and boring story."