Victor stood alone in the boss chamber, surrounded by the quiet settling of dust and the distant chittering of his new employees exploring their territory. The adrenaline that had carried him through two near-death encounters—first the awakening, then the negotiation—began to drain from his system.
His hands were shaking.
He hadn't noticed until now. Too busy calculating survival probabilities, analyzing goblin psychology, structuring employment contracts. But now, in the silence, his body reminded him that it had been pushed well beyond its operational parameters.
Physical status: No food since arrival. No water. No sleep. Core temperature dropping. Hands trembling—likely unsustainable operational fatigue.
Victor looked around the chamber with new eyes. Not the tactical assessment of a man about to die, but the analytical gaze of someone taking inventory.
Stone walls, ancient and carved with runes that meant nothing to him but suggested intentional design. The liquidated asset (Marcus)—though "corpse" was generous now.
The goblins had been thorough in their "processing." What remained was bones, scattered armor fragments, and stains Victor chose not to examine closely.
A broken throne at one end of the chamber. Dust. Shadows.
And absolutely no furniture.
Chaos is inefficient. Start with a workspace.
The thought came unbidden, automatic—the reflex of a man who had spent decades turning failing operations into profitable ones. Before he could question the impulse, Victor was already moving.
He found a flat stone slab near the wall—probably a ceremonial altar, based on the dried stains—and dragged it to the center of the chamber. The effort left him winded. His new body was pathetically weak.
On the improvised desk, he arranged what remained of Marcus's supplies:
The glowing sword (still soulbound, still useless, still mocking him with its inaccessible power). The empty backpack. The map marked "Tutorial Dungeon - EASY."
One remaining ration—dried meat and stale bread that represented his entire food security.
Victor sat on the broken throne. The stone was cold. The position was uncomfortable. But for the first time since arriving in this world, he had something that resembled an office.
It was his.
With the immediate chaos contained, Victor turned his attention to the interface that had been hovering at the edge of his vision since awakening.
ARMI. Full system access. Show me everything.
[ARMI - FULL STATUS REPORT]
Restructurer: Victor Kaine (#8940)
Class: Asset Manager (Unique)
Level: 1
Vital Statistics:
- HP: 50/50 (Species baseline: Low)
- GP: 0 (CRITICAL - No mana reserves)
- Stamina: 23/100 (Depleted)
Core Attributes:
- STR: 4 (Can lift briefcase. No more.)
- AGI: 5 (Fast enough to dodge responsibility)
- INT: 18 (Dangerously high)
- CHA: 3 (Base) / 20 (Sales Mode active)
- LCK: 50 (Passive: Too Big to Fail)
Active Skills:
- [Performance Review] - Cost: 0 GP - AVAILABLE
Locked Skills (Require GP Investment):
- [Hostile Takeover] - 500 GP (Initial Unlock)
- [Aggressive Negotiations] - 300 GP (Initial Unlock)
- [Predatory Lending] - 200 GP (Initial Unlock)
- [Motivational Lie] - 100 GP (Initial Unlock)
(Additional skills: 47 locked)
Victor stared at the numbers. Fifty HP in a world where a basic goblin could probably inflict twenty damage with a rusty knife. Zero GP in a system where gold was literally power.
Current operational capability: Zero. I lack the initial capital to fuel even basic management modules.
The realization settled into his mind with the weight of a quarterly loss report. Every skill locked behind capital he didn't have. Every ability worthless without resources to fuel it.
And he'd just given away four health potions—two hundred GP equivalent—to buy the temporary loyalty of creatures who would eat him the moment they got hungry enough. He had kept the fifth, a strategic reserve he didn't intend to touch unless the ROI was undeniable.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Stupid. Desperate. Necessary.
He leaned back on the broken throne and closed his eyes. Just for a moment. Just to think.
The dungeon's ambient sounds faded. The torchlight flickered against his eyelids. And then—
A boardroom. Glass walls overlooking a city skyline. Rain streaking down the windows like the stock chart on the screen.
A spreadsheet. Thousands of rows. Each row a name. Each name a life. Each life a cost to be optimized.
A voice—familiar, corporate, smooth: "It's just business, Victor. You understand."
Hands placing a manila envelope on the table. Inside: a severance package. Outside: security waiting to escort him from the building.
His own voice, calm and analytical even as his career collapsed: "Of course. The numbers make sense."
Victor's eyes snapped open.
He was still in the dungeon. Still on the broken throne. Still alone with the dust and the bones and the flickering torchlight.
But now he remembered something.
I was a manager. On Earth. I was...
The memory slipped away before he could grasp it fully. Like water through fingers. Like a dream dissolving in morning light.
[ARMI - NOTIFICATION]
Memory Module: Fragmented
Recovery Status: 7% complete
Note: Full integration requires time and/or sufficient trauma.
Recommendation: Focus on immediate survival.
Victor turned his gaze back to the stone walls. The runes weren't just decorative; his analytical mind began to map their recurring patterns, identifying a sequence that hinted at an automated maintenance protocol within the dungeon's architecture. It was a sophisticated system, one that operated at a level of efficiency he could respect.
Victor rubbed his temples. The system was right—he couldn't afford to dwell on a past he barely remembered. Not when the present was trying to kill him.
He stood and began pacing. The physical movement helped clear his head. As he walked, he mentally catalogued his problems:
Problem 1: Food
Fourteen goblins needed to eat. He had one ration. The health potions were gone—the goblins had consumed them for the sugar content within minutes of the negotiation ending.
At current consumption rates, his workforce would begin starving in approximately four hours.
Problem 2: Capital
Zero GP meant zero skills. No [Hostile Takeover] to forcibly recruit more employees. No [Motivational Lie] to boost morale. No [Predatory Lending] to create debt-based loyalty. He was a manager without a budget.
Problem 3: Threats
Floor Four housed something large enough that even the goblins avoided it. A boss-class monster that "ate goblins who went too deep." Eventually, he would need to deal with that. But not today.
Victor knelt and used a fragment of bone to scratch words into the dusty floor:
- Food
- Gold
- Defenses
The list helped. Lists always helped. They turned chaos into actionable items. They transformed overwhelming problems into solvable steps.
He was still staring at the words when Sniv burst into the chamber.
The small goblin was breathing hard, his gray-green skin flushed with exertion. Fresh scratches marked his face—his "census mission" had clearly involved encounters with hostile parties. But his yellow eyes were bright with something Victor hadn't seen in them before.
Pride.
"Boss! Boss!" Sniv skidded to a halt, nearly falling over his own feet in his eagerness. "Sniv count! Sniv count all floors!"
He held up a crude tally—scratches on a flat piece of stone, organized into rough columns. For a creature who allegedly couldn't read, it was surprisingly organized.
"Show me," Victor said.
Sniv presented his findings with the gravity of a junior analyst delivering quarterly projections:
Floor 1: Goblins (28 more—hostile tribes), Rats (many—everywhere), Traps (some—dangerous)
Floor 2: Slimes (infinite—they keep coming), Mushrooms (big—maybe food?), Wet (very—water source?)
Floor 3: Goblins (same 28—territory overlap), Spiders (some—web everywhere), Dark (very—hard to see)
Floor 4: Big Scary (one—NO GO)
Victor processed the intelligence. Twenty-eight additional goblins—hostile startups or potential acquisitions, depending on how they were approached. Rats meant protein if he could organize hunting parties. Slimes were interesting—in most systems he vaguely remembered, slimes had commercial applications.
And Floor Two had water. That solved one problem he hadn't even consciously catalogued yet.
"The slimes," Victor said. "Tell me about them."
Sniv's face scrunched in concentration. "Squishy. Bounce. Eat everything. Come from walls—many, many, never stop coming. Other goblins scared of Floor 2. Say slimes eat whole tribe once."
Infinite regeneration. Aggressive. Dangerous to unprepared groups.
But "infinite" meant sustainable. And creatures that "ate everything" were usually decomposers—biological recyclers. In corporate terms: a resource that could potentially be harvested.
Victor filed the information away.
"Good work," he said. The words came automatically—employee acknowledgment was important for morale. "Your first performance review: Satisfactory. Room for improvement, but satisfactory."
Sniv's eyes went wide. No one had ever given him a performance review before. No one had ever acknowledged that his work had value.
Then the small goblin's expression shifted. Something darker entered his gaze.
"Boss... also... pack getting hungry. Looking at Sniv. Hungry eyes." He touched one of the scratches on his face. "This not from enemy tribe. This from our tribe."
Victor checked his internal clock. Eight hours since the contract negotiation. Four hours since he'd sent Sniv on the census mission.
The provisional loyalty he'd purchased with health potions was already fraying.
Four hours. Maybe less. Before the contract dissolves into cannibalism.
He stood. The broken throne creaked behind him. The torchlight cast long shadows across the dust.
"Show me Floor Two," Victor said. "The slimes. Now."
End of Chapter 3
[ARMI - SESSION SUMMARY]
Balance: 0 GP
Employees: 14 (loyalty degrading)
Assets: 1 Ration (insufficient), Workspace established
Memory Recovery: 7%
Threats: Starvation (4 hours), Hostile tribes (28 goblins), Floor 4 entity
Status: CRITICAL - Resource acquisition required