Adventurer Mark POV:


    Mark frowned, the weight of unease settling in the pit of his stomach. The party had decided to keep their findings a secret, a choice that gnawed at him. Maybe it was the cautious instinct of a trainee, or perhaps just a hunch that told him something wasn’t right. Beside him stood his two companions—Angelica and Alexander. He hesitated to call them friends; they were more like fellow trainees, comrades who had endured the same grueling trials together. Yet, in truth, he barely knew them beyond their skills and names, and a strange distance hung in the air.


    Angelica, the cleric, was a riddle wrapped in a shroud of tranquility. With her soft features and dreamy demeanor, she seemed perpetually lost in her own world, her mind wandering to realms beyond the mundane. She worshiped a god Mark had never heard of—Narco, the god of sleep. He couldn''t help but draw parallels between her and a cat: always seeking out sunny spots to nap, her small, delicate hands often grasping at whatever she could reach, just to see it fall. He had witnessed her topple countless objects, watching with bemusement as she giggled at their inevitable crash. There was a mischievous spark in her eye when she did it, a gentle reminder of the carefree spirit he wished he could embody.


    On the other side was Alexander, a wizard whose very essence screamed of bookish dedication. Ironically named after a legendary warrior, he embodied none of that bravado. Instead, he was a numbers guy, an analytical mind perpetually lost in calculations and statistics. After every dungeon run, he would eagerly present his findings, laying out data on how they could optimize their performance. His passion was palpable, but sometimes it felt like a cloak that concealed his insecurities. Mark often found himself nodding along to Alexander’s lengthy presentations, trying to pay attention to him and not follow in Angelica’s footsteps falling asleep on the table.


    As they trudged through the training dungeon over the next two days, Mark''s thoughts spiraled into deeper worry. The stale air around them felt heavier, almost suffocating. Piles of scrap had increased, yet the usual cluster of cubic minions was markedly absent, their numbers dwindling. The silence was unsettling, and every creak of the dungeon’s ancient walls felt like a warning bell in the back of his mind.


    “Let’s do a sweep of the room!” Alexander suggested, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm as he scanned the corners, searching for something—anything—that would explain the peculiarities they had encountered. “There must be something we’re missing. What if it’s a significant change?”


    But the others quickly dismissed him. “It’s probably just a quirk of the dungeon’s logic,” Angelica chimed in, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “We’ve seen stranger things before. No need to waste time on something trivial.”


    Mark felt the weight of indecision pressing on him. While he respected his companions'' opinions, a nagging doubt lingered in his mind. He shook his head, trying to cast off the unsettling feeling. This was not just a minor change. There was something deeper at play, a change that whispered secrets of a brewing storm. “Something has changed, and this is just the beginning,” he thought, feeling a shiver race down his spine.


    Mark never spoke his worries, even as they gnawed at him like a persistent itch. In this trio, he was expected to be the brute, the shield that absorbed damage while his companions navigated the dangers of the dungeon. He glanced between Angelica and Alexander, weighing the risk of voicing his concerns against the fa?ade of strength he needed to maintain. He couldn''t afford to show vulnerability. “Just shake it off,” he told himself, forcing a nod. “We need to move on. Grab what loot we can and make the most of the safe experience this dungeon offers, even if it is a dead dungeon.”


    The truth, however, lingered just beneath the surface. From what he understood, the school’s funding for these training expeditions was precarious. They sent anyone with a decent energy control stat to pump energy into the dungeon, ensuring it could function properly. The unwritten rule was to avoid attacking any non-combatant minions, primarily the diligent cubes that scuttled around the room, mindlessly toiling. Doing so would only drain resources, which translated to fewer coppers in the school’s already strained budget. Those cubes were practically suicidal even without help, routinely tumbling into the furnaces and disappearing with a tragic, metallic clang.


    With a sigh of resignation, Alexander broke the silence, frustration etched across his features. “Fine, I’m sure the energy providers just accidentally pumped the dungeon with a little more energy or something.” His voice was laced with a mix of annoyance and reluctant acceptance.


    Mark’s gaze drifted upward to the towering statue of the cube, the only remnant of the new features many had reported—features that included them. The sight of it, stark and unyielding, provided him with a sliver of reassurance. Perhaps the school staff, with their experience, knew better than he did. He swallowed the growing unease, telling himself that if they deemed it unworthy of concern, he should, too.


    He clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned his attention to a cubic minion nearby, resting on a pile of scrap. “You’re lucky,” he muttered, casting a sidelong glance at the golem, “you don’t have to put up with anything other than making cubes all day. Must be a nice life.” With a gentle tap on the top of the golem’s head, which came up to his waist, he felt a strange kinship with the creature, a longing for the simplicity of its existence. But those thoughts faded quickly as he steeled himself to move forward, stepping out of the room to confront the next set of monsters.


    As they advanced, Mark couldn’t help but muse over the naming conventions the system employed. “Golem Goblins,” it had labeled them. What a strange choice, given their stark differences from the green-skinned pests that roamed outside this place. The only comparison was their height; these crude, humanoid-shaped statues stood at about four feet tall, brandishing jagged daggers in their hands.


    As the goblins charged at the group, adrenaline surged through Mark’s veins. He thrust his shield forward, feeling the satisfying thud as it deflected the initial attacks. Ignoring the thoughts that ran through his head he put on a bright smile, taking a glance at his two companions.


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    As the Golem Goblins lunged at the trio, Mark tightened his grip on his shield, bracing himself for impact. The first goblin crashed into his shield with a grunt, the force rattling him slightly.


    “Nice of you to show up, buddy!” Mark quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was just thinking how dull this day was without a little stone face smashing.” He swung his mace, catching another goblin squarely in the side and sending it sprawling.


    “Stone face smashing? Stop teasing the misplaced garden gnomes,” Alexander chimed in, weaving between blasts of his own magic missiles. Each missile shot forth like a bolt of shimmering light, striking true. “I mean, who decided these guys should be the dungeon’s security detail?”


    “Clearly, a very confused sculptor,” Mark shot back, deflecting a dagger aimed at his midsection. “Maybe they thought ‘artsy’ was the way to go!”


    Angelica rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk as she stepped closer, channeling her white magic to heal the small bruises that were starting to form on Mark’s arms. “You’re both ridiculous. Focus, or I might just let one of these gnomes take a swing at you!” She waved her hand, casting a protective shield around Mark. “There! That should give you a little cushion.”


    “Perfect! Just what I need, a magic hug while I’m battling Golems!” Mark said, his tone light despite the chaos. He ducked under a wild swing from a goblin, countering with a swift jab of his mace that sent the creature tumbling backward. “What are you doing, Angelica? Keep up the love! I want a full healing spa treatment when this is over!”


    Angelica laughed, her hands glowing as she sent a buff of speed to Alexander. “Maybe if you stop talking and start hitting, you’ll get a chance for a spa day afterward!”


    “Wait, can I get one, too?” Alexander interjected, launching another magic missile. “Healing from the cleric is great and all, but I could really use a full spa day after this. I’m starting to feel like an overworked mana battery!”


    “Just think of it as a team-building exercise,” Mark replied, smirking as he swung his mace again, catching another goblin just as it charged toward them. “Once we get through this, we''ll treat ourselves to the best spa in town.”


    “Or a terrible one,” Alexander teased, watching as the last goblin went down with a satisfying crunch. “You know how much I love budget-friendly options. We still have barely a few gold to our names, and it''s mostly on me.”


    As the dust settled, Angelica couldn’t help but shake her head in amusement. “You two are incorrigible. But seriously, I’m just glad none of us got hurt too badly, at least.” She glanced at Mark, who was brushing off the remnants of battle from his armor. “Next time, how about you leave the chatter boxing at home and focus on the task?”


    Mark smirked, wiping the sweat from his brow. “No promises. Someone has to keep things interesting. Besides, it’s part of my charm!”


    “Your charm?” Alexander teased light heartedly. “More like your ability to distract us from actually doing our jobs!”


    Mark feigned offense, raising his shield dramatically. “How dare you! Without my charm, we’d just be a bunch of boring adventurers!”


    “Boring, he calls us,” Alexander quipped, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm as he scanned the scattered remains of the golems. He let out a frustrated huff, brushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. “Not a single intact golem core. It’s like they knew we were coming and decided to self-destruct.”


    Mark rolled his shoulders, loosening up after the brief but intense skirmish. He cracked his knuckles and flexed his arms, savoring the brief moment of victory. “Well, it is a dead dungeon,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m surprised it still gives loot sometimes, but it isn’t exactly as charitable as the ones that still function. Sadly, we can’t explore them yet because they change and evolve.” He frowned, glancing at the cracked walls of the dungeon that seemed to groan in agreement.


    “Can’t wait to be a senior,” Alexander said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Then we can finally start exploring living dungeons. I need to see how their numbers compare to the control group.” He punctuated his words with an exaggerated gesture, as if imagining a grand statistical display in the air before him.


    “Control group?” Mark raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and confusion flitting across his face. “I thought we were here to fight monsters, not conduct science experiments.”


    “Yeah, well, when doing experiments, you need a control group to test variables against,” Alexander explained, his voice animated, punctuated by the enthusiasm of a budding scholar. “A dead dungeon is the perfect control group because it rarely changes. If you provide the same amount of energy, the same amount and type of dungeon monsters spawn. The only downside is that they degrade over time, and eventually, the dungeon will crumble.” He motioned to the walls, tracing the spider web-like cracks spreading through the stone with his finger, his expression growing serious. “It’s why most dead dungeons are preserved. The ‘minions’ of the dungeons provide repairs, but this one is unique since all they do is supply the materials to create the boss monster.”


    Mark frowned, crossing his arms. “Which sucks that someone’s killing off the minions of this dungeon. It’s like taking the heart out of a clock and expecting it to keep ticking. Sadly, no one has fessed up to it.” His tone was tinged with disappointment.


    Angelica, who had been silently listening to their banter, interjected, her brows furrowing. “It makes the boss weaker and less likely to give us rewards,” she said, her voice laced with annoyance. She glanced around at the debris littering the ground. “If the minions disappear, what does that mean for us? We could end up facing an incomplete boss, and we all know how that ends.”


    “Or worse,” Mark added grimly. “What if the boss changes? We have no idea what it could become without its core components. It could be more dangerous than we anticipate, I would hate to see the thing explode on death or something.” He glanced at Angelica, his expression softening. “But I’m not worried we’ll be seniors before that happens hopefully.”


    “True,” Angelica acknowledged, a hint of a smile creeping onto her lips. “But it would be nice to know what we’re dealing with ahead of time, since the only other thing in the room with minions is roaches. Maybe we’ll have to fight a giant roach that could spit acid next time.”


    “Now that’s a visual I could live without,” Alexander replied, feigning horror while laughing. “Can you imagine? ‘The Fearsome Roach of Doom’ or something. We could put that on the school’s wall of fame!”


    Mark chuckled. “Let’s just focus on what we can control—getting through this dungeon, preserving what we can, and hopefully finding someone who knows what’s going on.”


    “Agreed,” Angelica said, her determination resurfacing. “Let’s keep our eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. For the record, I’m still hoping for a spa day once we’re done.” She shot a teasing glance at Mark. “Unless you’d rather keep fighting golems.”


    “Spa day sounds better than the ‘Fearsome Roach of Doom,’” Mark replied with a grin. “Deal. But first, let’s finish this and let the school figure out who’s messing with our minions.”