“You’ve accomplished a serviceable job, profit is within the acceptable margins. However, your efforts have not exceeded my expectations by any measure,” Regis vibrated as Vraz and Wort brought what remained of the dishes into the kitchen. The replica crystal used to gather essence hovered next to Regis, mysterious white vapor formed an undulating stream between the two crimson crystals.

  On the counter sat the various ‘shinys’ Vraz collected as payment. A treasure mound that glittered in the dim light, to the complete disinterest of the crystal.

  According to his employees, multiple goblins purchased double or even triple servings. An inevitable outcome to the pricing change. Those with power accumulated wealth or took it from the less powerful. Before, all goblins paid equally through essence, each only brimmed with enough essence to purchase a single meal. No goblin aside from Mallik had enough experience with magic to pay twice. Now the privileged and powerful thrived.

  If someone considered this new business practice predatory, who cared? Capitalism was inherent to the functioning of a fine dining restaurant. Once he served kings, why bother serving peasants?

  So what if a repeat customer roughed up weaker goblins for shinies to buy more food? It certainly couldn’t be expected of him, the glorious chef, to care about such petty matters. Regis didn’t bother with goblin politics, the little savages deserved to struggle like apes. Besides, those willing to go so far clearly adored his cuisine. Did they not deserve a reward for such behavior?

  The wealth was but a seed to grow. With it, they would purchase more ingredients. Using the dwarves as a source for ingredients, then selling products to snowball further. As the flower of their success bloomed from this dark cave, Strum assured him that the dynamics within the Shadow-Axe tribe would shift. As wealth accumulated in their coffers, the goblins would leverage Mallik and Rurk for more shinies to acquire meals.

  Causing trouble for that brute brought great delight to the dungeon, even more than the heady power of the essence that flooded into him from the replica crystal.

  Mana sprang to life within him, throwing logs on an internal fire. Regis shuddered with delight. Thousands of fireworks going off and exploding with pure potential. Imagination remained the only limit to what he would accomplish with it.

  With a shudder, the last wisp of essence flowed into him. The fake crystal burst apart and clattered across the ground then melted into the stone below. How I’ve yearned for this. For so great a time, I’ve waited. Even with pricing adjustment, the vast majority of the goblins eagerly handed over their essence. Vraz made it possible to prepare more food than ever before. Together, they would conquer the world and all in it.

  High on unadulterated power, Regis slammed his focus into the tunnel to the storeroom. He released essence into the air, carving into the empty space and seizing control over it. Complete dominion over his territory.

  Information flooded into him as his awareness ran over each little spot, crack, and crevice in the cold tunnel leading to the pantry. His momentum only sped as it reached the threshold of the storage room as if the mana hungered to conquer. He felt each of his ingredients and examined the grains of wood in the poorly constructed racks that contained them. This won’t do. His control inflated and filled the interior of the cave, yet the stone surrounding resisted his grasp. Regis pushed harder, and his mana permeated the stone.

  With the precision of a surgeon, his will carved the stone walls to form cubbies and shelves. His focus flowed over the efforts, managing every molecule to mold the stone. All dungeons performed such feats, given sufficient mastery of their mana. A dungeon manipulated anything inanimate, as far as he knew. More complex material or intricate tasks required higher effort. This proved just a petty task for one as great as he. Ten minutes of effort yielded perfect stone shelves.

  The poor excuse for wooden storage remained, holding the food and provisions. Vraz would have to sort them out and throw away the awful feat of goblin engineering.

  Finally. Full awareness of his kitchen pantry. If the heart of a restaurant lay in the kitchen, then the stomach of a restaurant was its pantry. Were it empty, the restaurant would fail. If a chef failed to pay attention to what went into the stomach, they literally poisoned others with expired products and misplaced ingredients.

  A flicker of vague memories of him investigating such kitchens struck the crystal as it took stock of the storage. He recalled pulling out half-rotted fish and yelling at the fools who committed such a grievous sin. Still, this pantry resided in a much better kitchen than any of those. Vraz did acceptable work, but a good chef always double-checked.

  His superior senses detected several items to toss. Such a mistake Regis considered understandable but necessitated correction. He expected his prized employee to determine when food went rancid. A goblin didn’t require a dungeon’s ability to sense food at a minuscule level to do a suitable job. Vraz’s behavior would be amended.

  If Vraz were unable to do that much, it meant Regis failed as his mentor.

  The dungeon retracted his senses from the pantry then split his attention towards another objective. A tendril of consciousness snaked upward in a spot above the kitchen counter in the corner of the cave. Regis commenced the tedious process of carving out a circular hole. Rock shoved around as his influence expanded and explored upward.

  Through the use of saucepans and a stovetop, a chef achieved much. But there were a plethora of cooking techniques in the world, and equipment to match. He’d grown annoyed at the limitations and workarounds his recipes required. Now was the time for a wood-burning oven. The tunnel above would breach outside, forming a vent for the smoke. Regis hoped he had enough essence remaining to accomplish the task.

  Regis vibrated and drifted slowly through the kitchen, half of his focus above. Inch by inch his territory expanded further, essence slowly sinking into the stone. A low drum of constant yet annoying effort.

  It had far passed the time to address his two idle employees standing in the kitchen. “Though you did not eclipse my expectations, you did not waste effort. I have seized control of the pantry and now forge our next important tool. It will allow us to market ourselves to the dwarves. Shelf life will no longer temper my ambition, like before. Soon Vraz, you shall witness my clever solution to this problem.”

  Wort scratched his ass and belched in response, causing Regis to shake the kitchen to show displeasure. The big hobgoblin went bug-eyed in response. Vraz shook his head and wiped off the sweat on his brow. “Sure chef,” Vraz said easily and leaned against a counter.

  “Wort, was it? You remind me far too much of another incompetent employee that dared pollute my kitchen. Just the thought of that particular imbecile causes my ire to swell. Conduct yourself in a far more presentable fashion within my domain, or suffer the consequences,” Regis threw out the threat. As seconds drew by the toad-like hobgoblin only blinked. The silence caused the crystal to grow even more agitated. Vraz raised an eyebrow at the big guy, which provoked Wort the hobgoblin to shuffle in place.

  Wort avoided looking at the glowing crystal and patted his stomach. “Wort like food much. More food in future?” asked the hobgoblin.

  “...Wash the dishes,” commanded Regis, “As for you, Vraz. Haul the valuables to the pantry. Then we shall conduct a lesson. You will learn to distinguish ingredient quality. Just because it lacks mold, does not mean it’s not past its ideal use time. Perhaps with a few years of guidance, you’ll develop senses capable of a fraction of mine. Despite my new ability to take active stock of the conditions of our ingredients, do not think you no longer have the same responsibilities. I shall test you by purposefully neglecting to mention the state of certain ingredients. If you fail to identify them, I will punish you.”

  Vraz groaned but shook his head, gathering the valuables into a pot and then carrying the hefty thing with him, following the crystal.

  “Something-is-trailing-us,” Jilde whispered, as she slinked up next to Strum. The poor goblin shook his head and groaned. Stepping into a Dark Lord’s territory felt like whacking a hornet’s nest with a stick.

  Getting spotted had consequences. If Mallik discovered they knew what his minions had done, there was no telling what trouble would follow. Then there was the Dark Lord’s army itself. Dark Lords started small, just a man or woman from an advanced race unlucky enough to make a covenant with a dark deity, or perhaps find a long-lost sinister artifact, or develop a loving embrace with darkness. Then like a slime, they would roam over the world and absorb everything, all-consuming.

  The Dark Lord wrung every drop of power and influence possible, dominating monsters and tribes and forcing them under their heel. Never stopping, a growing blight that expanded and congealed and brought war.

  Until eventually, the advanced races snapped and eradicated the threat.

  Dark Lords didn’t live long lives. An average of two to five years, aside from a few notable exceptions. As soon as the advanced races caught a whiff of their scent, they pounced like wolves. Tearing into the dark army with swift and violent aggression. Strum wanted nothing to do with that mess. Especially since he knew about an aspect of Dark Lords that few did.

  If a Dark Lord came into contact with a dungeon core, they tended to use their will to enslave it. Dark fortresses rose in days, elaborate castles with defenses unparalleled all due to the power of dungeons. Monsters obediently bent to their master’s will using their influence. Even enhancement to their army’s growth, though Strum did not know how a dungeon accomplished that. Dungeons held a myriad of benefits to any upcoming tyrant, as long darkness blessed the tyrant.

  All of this led to the question of what Mallik plotted. Strum knew that the shaman possessed malicious intentions, towards Rurk at the very least. Even in his worst ruminations the idea of Mallik selling out the tribe never appeared.

  What did he have to gain? Status? Typically the first goblin head on a chopping block when a Dark Lord’s army marched through was the head of the chieftain. A clean method to exert dominance and control over the brutes. Within the tribe combat dictated title transfer. If Mallik wanted to usurp Rurk, surely he’d employ a better solution than to subjugate the whole Shadow-Axe tribe beneath an unknown power.

  “You take lead, I’ll um… be right behind,” Strum muttered, noticing Jilde grow more concerned. She looked him in the eye and locked her jaw, with a nod her pace picked up. She yanked his palm and pulled him as her movements grew unpredictable, even doubling back at one point.

  Her eyes darted around, quick looks over her shoulder and gripping her bow tightly. As long as she’d been his employee, Strum never saw the woman so wound up. Normally she walked through the forest with the grace of a natural predator. The noises behind them failed to retreat as she pulled out more and more tricks, her hand clammy in his. Panic in her eyes as the loud steps chasing them only grew in noise. Strum let out a sigh and tugged at her arm to get her to stop.

  “Um. Listen... It’s clear we’re not getting out of this,” Strum began, she looked as if she were going to disagree, but he saw in her eyes that his arrow hit a bullseye. Jilde, a cheerful half-goblin to be so reduced to this state, like an animal caught in a trap, invoked a sense of wrongness that stained his soul. He squeezed her hand in a show of support, “So, I’ve come to a decision.”

  “No-no- Strum-just-give, y’know-just-a-little-time, and I’ll get us outta here. Ya-just-need-to-wait,” she said, eyes darting around at the forest. Strum shook his head.

  “You’re not the uh… the problem, Jilde. I am. That’s why I’m making this decision,” his eyes bore into hers as if wanting to draw away her pain and worry. “You need to get back to the cave. Tell Regis what we found.”

  “What-do-you-mean!?” She asked, her grip tightening. Her body gave out a small shake, voice breaking as she struggled to say more.

  Strum stepped closer, cupping her chin. “It’ll be fine. I’m stronger now. But I don’t plan on fighting,” he tried to force a calm he did not feel into his tone. She blinked at the gesture, blush on her cheeks. More rumbling from the bushes nearby stuck that from her face. Strum let out a tired groan. “Don’t worry. Alright? Have I uh… ever been unreliable?”

  “No-you-always-follow-through… Strum- I-” the rustling didn’t let up, an explosion of noise to their right, both of their necks craned to look at its source. Strum extracted himself from Jilde, hoping he’d done enough to ease her anxiety.

  Far easier for him to bear the brunt of worry, and stand tall. A good leader stood at the front of the company, with their back straight to face challenges head-on. “Go, Jilde. Now,” he ordered. He pulled himself to his full height and faced where the burst of noise came from.

  Strum heard the half-goblin behind him let out a subdued sob, trying to say something, barely audible over the growing noise footfalls.

  Jilde was the type of goblin to run wild, yet work diligently. Did he ask too much of her? Doubt lingered in him, ears strained to make out the noise of her running off over the distraction of what approached. He relied on her for much, but never under his employ had she faced such an intense situation. If only he knew that such trouble lurked out here, she’d still be safely tucked away in the tribe. One never waded through the river of time and changed things based on wishes.

  To his relief, the half-goblin scrambled away just as a large yellow-skinned figure burst out of the bush line. A massive nose dotted its square face as it placed a hand on a nearby tree. Its skin blended with the texture of the pine bark, the height of the creature at least five goblins tall. Long greasy black hair tangled like roots down its back. Even more curious, the beast did not appear alone. Perched on its shoulder sat a gremlin, looking at him with a cocked head

  “Where’s the other?” chirped the gremlin, as its nose sniffed the air. “Scent is harder to pick up. Don’t think we’ll find them. Did you tell them to go warn your tribe?” asked the gremlin descending the troll with a grace of a monkey.

  “I have no idea what you uh, mean,” declared Strum, opening his hands wide as the smaller creature began to circle him. The troll swayed where it stood, closing its eyes and leaning against the pine. The poor tree bent under the abuse. “As a representative of my tribe, I’m interested in discussing your uh… group,” he tried, the gremlin stopped its rapid movement. It leaned forward and its small button-like nose quivered.

  The gremlin furrowed its brow, claws clenched. Its posture broke and revealed a mouth full of pointed teeth in a mockery of a smile. “In other words, you realized your situation was hopeless, and are looking for alternatives. Sneaky, sneaky, little goblin. Aren’t you supposed to be dumb as rocks?”

  “I’m not an average goblin,” Strum resisted the urge to fold his arms as the little creature tried to provoke him.

  “You’re going to come with me, and we’re going to have a nice long discussion. You know more than to run off, no?” The gremlin snapped his fingers. “Oblok, show the sneak what happens to bad little goblins that run.”

  “Crush,” Oblok said in a deep gravelly tone, before ripping a massive branch off the pine tree next to him. He took the branch in both hands then let out a groan of effort. It cracked in half.

  Strum rubbed the back of his head and stepped away out of reflex. “I think you uh, meant ‘snap.’”

  “No. Crush,” replied Oblok, as he palmed half the branch and slammed it into a rock about the size of a goblin head. The earth shook, Strum barely caught himself from falling over. Oblok lifted the log-sized branch, a crater with rubble was all that remained of the rock.

  “Ah,” said Strum. The gremlin smiled wider, pointed teeth sharp enough to tear apart flesh.