Armaros had collected Ebony's hoard in his bottomless bag and had sent the dragon out with Norrix. Yes, the vampire led them to treasure. But, so far, that had nearly gotten them killed.

 Besides, Ebony was too big for the tunnels on the right side, which were not made with a dragon, albeit a toddler one, in mind.

"Alklair, light wisps," Dorian commanded. They were marking the walls, so they knew where they were going. With special gel usually dropped by slimes that glowed in the dark.

Alklair created the light wisps, not forgetting the pixies, this time. They found a dead end with a mural of a mage that looked like the statue. He had a staff and a bat on his shoulders.

"Do we have to expect bats further in?" Morris mused, and he heard Alklair groan.

"Why are you taking the mural in the literal sense? This is a mausoleum. Someone was buried in here long before the dungeon came in," Morris rubbed the back of his head.

"It is just that, there is nothing here. Not even gems embedded in the mural," that baffled the berserker. What was there to be seen? He didn't even feel mana coming from anywhere. Bar the slight whispers of the dungeon core's and the mana of his platoon.

"Hey, there is a corridor over here," Jean called, and they all went to him. There was indeed a corridor leading to a smaller chamber. But the chamber was filled with junk.

Broken barrier stones were next to dented armor. There was a single thing of note. And it was a smoking hourglass. Dorian went and picked it up.

"Morris, what are this thing's mana levels?" Morris concentrated and his eyes widened.

"Big. Too big for the glass to contain them. I think that this is an artificial dungeon core," they all gaped openly at his words. The theory behind making fake, non-sentient dungeon cores was, that, if the abandoned places where dungeon cores were usually born already had a dungeon core in place, then the new dungeon core won't appear. Or, it will be stunted.

"They were all the rage four hundred years ago," Alklair informed them. He remembered going on quests to place more than one. "They are ultimately useless."

"How so?" Jean asked. He had heard about the purpose of the fake dungeon cores, too. They were used for farming and animal rearing, mostly.

"The naturally created dungeon core always either pushes back the fake one, or takes over it. But, we can still sell this one to someone. It seems to be full of mana," Alklair clarified, and Dorian took out a nullifying container and placed the fake dungeon core inside.

"There has to be another corridor leading deeper. Come on, we have to go back to Ebony's chamber," Dorian did not spare the junk any time. But Morris went pass him and pulled out something from the piles.

It was small and silvery. A bracelet of some sort. 

"Hey, check this out. There is treasure here after all," Morris waved the bracelet. "And it had the same mana signature as the fake dungeon core."

"We can't sell it, then," Florifel's eyes shone with greed. "This thing can actually create treasure. Not just mobs. If it can even make mobs."

"People will find out we are trying to sell them dungeon made treasure," Alklair told her, a bit sad that their golden goose will have to land in someone else's hands.

"What if we melt the treasure?" Morris suggested. "When all is said and done, silver is just silver and gold is just gold."

"We can't exploit it," Armaros began to shake, remembering how he had been forced to create his unfortunate children, only for them to die at the butcher's knife and for him to be always out of mana.

"Armaros, the hourglass is not like you. It doesn't have a mind of its own. Think of it like a mana battery. See?" Dorian pulled out the container of the dungeon core and handed it to Armaros. "Can you hear it speak, or something?"

Armaros strained his ears. His mana reached out towards the hourglass. But nothing answered his probing.

"It is like it is dead," he returned the hourglass, face ashen. "How was it even created?"

At that, Alklair looked uneasy.

"You know, all those dungeon cores that we destroyed since you...escaped?" Alklair was not certain that Armaros had done it by himself. No matter how competent the dungeon core was, now, when he came to the guild hall for the first time, he had been as weak as a kitten. "They bash the crystals to dust and then place the dust in hourglasses, much like this one. When the dust runs out, the hourglass will need to be turned around, or the fake dungeon core stops working."

"So, we, dungeon cores, are not allowed a burial?" Armaros snapped. No one answered him. "We are all evil, despite us fixing up the poisonous mana in the air and guarding abandoned places from horrors?"

"Armaros, most dungeon cores are evil and most dungeons are murder dungeons," Leander spoke softly, understanding the anger of the dungeon core. "But, you are right. It is not correct to not bury the dead cores."

"You know, that dungeon core, well, the mix of dungeon cores, are dead already," Alberta began, not liking where this was going. "And you promised Ebony a hoard. If you don't give him it, what do you think he will do?"

"Ebony is good," Armaros defended him.

"No, he really is not," Valerie argued. "But he is dead useful. Just imagine him taking care of a horde of giants or something similar. Once he grows up, of course."

She added the last part once Armaros glared at her.

"So, it is ok to disrespect the dead?" Armaros looked at each of them in turn. "Just because they used to be dungeon cores, in life? Well, in that case, I doubt I am appreciated, in truth. Or loved."

That was like a kick to the gut for the Try Hard Party. It was easy for them to forget that Armaros was a dungeon core. He looked human, talked the Alcandino language, walked like a human. But he was not human, and he could never forget that.