Mechalon hummed with relief, though it couldn''t quite understand why. It wasn''t like it could feel exhaustion, but something about the aftermath of the chaos made it feel a strange kind of peace. It had expected a lot more trouble after that massive sphere, their accidental creation had rolled through the dungeon like a runaway train. Thankfully, few adventurers had come sniffing around to investigate the disaster. Mechalon wondered if perhaps they assumed the dungeon had thrown them a curveball, an unexpected trap. Either way, it wasn’t their problem anymore.


    The cubes, its precious, frantic little cubes, were already hard at work, scurrying about with a renewed sense of purpose. One, Two, and Three were dashing between scrap piles, collecting small bits and pieces to toss into the furnace. Every little thing they gathered would be melted down, eventually contributing to the creation of the dungeon''s ultimate weapon: the boss monster.


    Mechalon kept an optic on them as they zipped back and forth with manic energy, following the precise commands it had drilled into them. No more rogue welding or sphere-making incidents—just relentless, focused work. It was... progress, at least.


    It groaned internally, knowing what this meant. The boss had been defeated, again, and the dungeon was scrambling to rebuild, which meant more work for Mechalon. The cubes had taken to this frantic pace like clockwork, but it knew it couldn''t just leave everything to them. Not after the mess they’d already made. Still, at least now the fabricator made things easier, streamlining the process of breaking down scrap into manageable parts.


    If only it didn’t have to scavenge quite so much. It was painfully aware of how much it had "thinned the herd," sacrificing its own kind to keep One, Two, and Three operational. So many cubes had been dismantled for spare parts, harvested for their inner workings so the trio could continue their tasks. They weren’t subtle, and keeping them in functioning order had been a constant battle of repairs and trial and error.


    The dungeon was slowly resupplying new cubes, dripping them in one by one like cautious replacements. But it was a slow, agonizing process, and Mechalon couldn''t afford to wait around for them to fully replenish. Not when the adventurers could come back at any time, ready to hack through the dungeon once more.


    Mechalon shifted its attention back to the task at hand. It didn’t have time for self-pity or regret. It had learned, rather painfully, that things rarely went according to plan. Herding its manic little minions was exhausting in a way it couldn''t fully articulate, but it was necessary. If it didn''t oversee them, who knew what kind of disaster they might accidentally create next?


    With a frustrated hum, Mechalon gave the silent command to its cubes to speed up their efforts, urging them to work faster. They had to finish their tasks before more adventurers showed up. The boss monster wouldn’t make itself, after all.


    As it watched the cubes dart between the piles of scrap, methodically melting down everything in sight, Mechalon couldn''t help but shake its cube at them. This was going to be a long process but it would get down to business, as it knew what other creatures did in the other rooms further in the dungeon.


    Mechalon hummed in deep thought as it skittered around the room, processing its next grand idea. A lair—yes, it needed a proper lair. The adventurers might come and go as they pleased, but this space was its domain. It was time to stake a real claim and create something that would force them to stay out of the areas it was working on. No more accidental interruptions, no more stumbling upon its delicate projects.


    It had spent enough time watching the patterns. The adventurers always stuck to the paths, almost ritualistically, their boots hitting the same cobblestone areas or the oddly colored patches of ground like they were following some invisible guidelines. That was a behavior Mechalon could exploit. It would reshape the room in a way that would keep them on their well-trodden paths and far away from the sensitive work it planned.


    Setting aside larger metal squares—each about an inch thick—it got to work. The fabricator was already occupied, so it relied on its learned methods. It gathered scrap metal, melted it down, and used its utility limb, along with its makeshift legs, to mold and shape the material. The process had become a reflex by now, a task so deeply ingrained it barely needed to focus on it.


    Soon, tens of small piles were stacked beside it, neat and organized. Mechalon glanced around the room. It seemed the adventurers had moved on, at least for the time being. The death of the boss had thrown the dungeon''s ecosystem into temporary disarray, and it knew from experience that the next encounter wouldn''t happen for quite some time. That gave it the perfect window to execute its plan.


    First, it needed to reshape the ground. The flush metal floor would no longer serve its purposes. Mechalon began cutting into it, replacing chunks of the old surface with the newly forged metal squares. With precision and care, it created a walkway that snaked through the center of the room, forming a perfect square pathway around the dungeon’s central statue. The symmetry of the design pleased it, a contrast to the previous haphazard layout.


    But this wasn’t enough. The adventurers would still have options, too much freedom to roam. Mechalon needed to create barriers, something to funnel them where it wanted them to go. It set its sights on the scrap in the room—scattered, useless to most, but valuable in Mechalon''s precise limbs. Piece by piece, it repurposed the discarded materials, crafting half-walls that reached up to shoulder height.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    These barriers would guide the adventurers like cattle through the room, taller than the tiny goblins they often encountered, by about a foot,  but just low enough to leave the adventurers feeling like they had an established path. The walls wouldn’t physically stop them, of course, but they would funnel them into the paths Mechalon designed, keeping them from wandering too close to its projects.


    Mechalon surveyed its handiwork, realizing it had unintentionally divided the room. While the half-walls and carefully placed metal squares created the perfect obstacle course for the adventurers, it now faced a new problem: how would its fellow Cubes move between the sections? They were crucial to its plans, after all. It couldn’t afford to have them stranded on one side, unable to access the scrap piles or the fabricator on the other.


    It pondered the issue for a moment, eyes flitting over the room before settling on a solution. Two arched sections, one at the beginning of the room and another at the far end. These small bridges would allow the Cubes to move back and forth without interrupting the flow of the room''s new layout. It visualized the design: simple, practical, and just wide enough, about three feet, for the Cubes to navigate. But, of course, there was a catch.


    Mechalon knew its kind well, perhaps too well. They weren''t exactly known for their agility, and the prospect of them tumbling off the narrow bridges seemed inevitable. It groaned inwardly at the thought, imagining the clumsy crashes, the lost time, and the repairs it would have to make. One, Two, and Three were reliable enough, but the others? Not so much.


    The image of Cubes sprawled out on the walkway, legs twitching helplessly, made Mechalon pause again. It needed to account for this inevitability. There had to be a way for the regular Cubes to get back over the walls when they inevitably fell off the narrow bridges.


    Mechalon''s first thought was to simply enclose the walkway and build a roof over it so nothing could fall in. But that idea was quickly discarded. Too suspicious. If the adventurers saw a sealed-off passage, they’d grow curious, and curiosity often led to trouble. Mechalon needed to be subtle. No unnecessary attention.


    It settled on a compromise: a set of steps, oversized and clunky for the bipedal adventurers, but perfect for the spider-like limbs of the Cubes. The steps would be scattered at strategic intervals along the walls, allowing the Cubes to stretch their limbs and clamber up and down with relative ease. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, but it would do the trick without attracting unwanted interest.


    Mechalon tested the design in its head, picturing the Cubes navigating the oversized steps, their legs reaching and pulling with mechanical precision. Yes, this could work. It wasn’t perfect, there would still be the occasional stumble, but it was enough. The adventurers would remain unaware, the Cubes would keep functioning, and the room’s new layout would remain intact.


    Mechalon knew it needed more than just walls and bridges to keep the adventurers at bay. Something that would make them hesitate, make them second-guess their curiosity. That’s when the idea of a sign came to mind—something simple but ominous. It set to work, forging a metal slab, its legs clanking against the ground as it shaped and molded the material. In blocky lettering, much like the system''s, it etched the words: “Curiosity is the path to bodily harm. Curiosity leads to risk. Risk leads to injury. Injury leads to suffering.”


    The message was blunt, but effective. Mechalon knew adventurers had a knack for ignoring danger, for diving headfirst into risk, but sometimes a clear warning could make even the most brazen think twice. After all, the more they hesitated, the less likely they were to interfere with its work.


    Proud of its creation, Mechalon glanced out of the room, down the long hallway where a group of goblins lounged lazily. Their metal armor clinked softly, daggers resting at their sides, but their bodies were filthy, caked in mud and grime, almost as if the ground itself had accepted them as one of its own. The sight made Mechalon''s energy core churn with disgust. It had a theory that roaches spawned from the filth these goblins carried. The way their dirty, matted bodies moved felt too similar to the skittering of the roaches for Mechalon’s liking.


    It had no tangible proof, but the thought alone was enough to fill it with revulsion. Goblins and roaches were one and the same in its eyes, both nuisances, both carriers of filth.


    Mechalon returned its focus to the sign, preparing to hang it outside its newly designed room. But there was a problem: the walls outside weren’t made of the same blackened iron as the interior. They were weathered stone, worn down by time, and the usual welding techniques wouldn’t work here. Mechalon paused, considering its options.


    After a moment, it devised a solution. Using a small chisel it had scavenged, it began carving an indent into the stone, careful not to let the gouges appear too deliberate. Then, with precise strikes, it created several small holes at the back of the indent, just large enough to hold what it had in mind.


    Next, it took the back of the metal sign and melted a thin slab of scrap metal, pouring it into the holes it had made in the stone. The molten metal seeped into the cracks, cooling quickly and solidifying into a strong, makeshift anchor. Satisfied, Mechalon pressed the sign into place, watching as the metal locked into the indent, securing the warning for all who dared to enter.


    It took a step back, admiring its handiwork. The sign was ominous, subtle but effective. It was a clear message to the adventurers: explore, and suffer the consequences. With the sign in place, Mechalon felt a small sense of victory. It couldn’t stop the adventurers from coming, but it could at least make them think twice.


    Mechalon didn’t fully grasp the complexities of adventurer behavior, their strange mix of caution and recklessness. But it understood survival, a basic instinct shared by most creatures, even if it doubted that applied to its fellow cubes. They had a certain... simplicity, one that often led them into danger with little thought, like mindless drones, driven only by their programming.


    Mechalon’s mind flickered back to a scene it had witnessed countless times. A fellow cube, mindlessly scuttling toward the furnace with a pile of scrap, miscalculating its steps and tumbling into the fiery pit without hesitation. There was no attempt to stop, no realization of the impending doom—just a simple, fatal plunge. Mechalon had watched the cube vanish into the flames, not even a spark of resistance in its movements, just scurrying limbs as if it was trying to walk into the flames even faster before it slammed into the river of molten metal below.


    Adventurers couldn’t have the same survival instincts as one of its brothers, right?


    It had a bad feeling in its core thinking about that, as it scurried up into the metal scraps that lined the new pathway with worry, it needed to make more deterrents, something it never saw the point of until now.


    Traps.