Viktor moved down the hallway, his boots echoing softly against the worn stone floor.

He'd already dressed for the day in simple dark pants and a loose shirt.

The familiar sound of "kyu-kyu" squeaking drifted from one of the guest rooms—Rustina's distinctive chirping.

He pushed the door open.

The pink slime was bouncing enthusiastically around the bed like some hyperactive pet, her flower-topped head bobbing with each movement.

Her gelatinous body jiggled with pure, unbridled joy as she hopped around.

On the mattress sat Toby, Mira's six-year-old son, rubbing his eyes groggily.

The kid had clearly just woken up, his thin frame wrapped in an oversized nightshirt Helena had sewn for him.

"So the little champ finally decided to join the world of the living, huh?" Viktor said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

Toby's head snapped up instantly at the sound of his voice. Those big eyes—still carrying traces of fever-glaze despite days of treatment—focused on Viktor.

The boy rubbed his face with small fists, then smiled.

"Go..od mni..ng, pa..a."

Viktor's feet stopped moving.

His entire body went still, like someone had poured ice water down his spine.

The word echoed in his head, strange and foreign and somehow profound.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop—everything suspended in amber as that single word bounced around in his skull.

'Papa.'

"What?" The word came out rough, confused.

Toby, interpreting this as confusion rather than shock, tried to lift himself off the bed.

His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, his thin legs wobbling beneath him as he stumbled forward—

Viktor moved without thinking.

His arms shot out, catching the boy before he could tumble face-first onto the floor.

He pulled Toby against his chest in three strides, one hand automatically moving to rub the kid's messy hair. "Whoa, easy there. What did you just call me?"

"Pa..pa," Toby repeated, tilting his head back, the word coming out in that innocent, childish way—each syllable spoken with the careful precision of a child who'd been taught something important and was determined to get it right.

Viktor's jaw clenched. Part of him wanted to laugh—to tell the kid how fucking weird it sounded, how strange it felt having someone call him that.

But looking at Toby's face, so earnest and hopeful, he swallowed those words down.

"Who told you to call me that?" Viktor's voice came out rougher than he intended.

"Momm..y told," Toby said simply, then rested his head on Viktor's shoulder with the kind of complete trust that made something twist in Viktor's gut. "She said... you're my pa..pa now. That you make her fee..l good, and that means you're good to me."

'The hell... with that pervert.'

"pfft." A chuckle escaped before he could stop it—something warm flickering across his features before he could stop it. "Yeah," he said, almost to himself. "I suppose I am Toby's father now, aren't I?"

Toby made a satisfied sound and nestled deeper into Viktor's embrace, his small frame relaxing with complete trust.

Viktor held him there for a moment, one hand supporting the boy's thin back while the other continued to run through his hair—a gesture that was somehow both tender and possessive.

Then his eyes narrowed.

He adjusted his hold on Toby, then carefully tilted the boy's face, examining his cheeks with the careful scrutiny of someone inspecting damage.

The healing herbs were working; the twitches that plagued Toby had lessened, the seizures becoming less frequent, but remnants of his condition still lingered.

"The healing's still working," Viktor murmured to himself, running his thumb along the boy's jawline. "Another week, maybe two, and he'll be completely restored."

But as he held Toby, another thought began to take shape in his mind. A problem. One that made his expression cool, his eyes grow distant.

The real problem was going to come later.

His other children—the ones Helena and Mira would eventually bear—would inherit 50% of his abilities at birth.

Their intelligence would skyrocket within months, enhanced by the system's power.

Of course, intelligence means the learning speed of new things and cognitive reasoning, as well as memories.

Mentally, they'd develop at an accelerated rate, turning them into young prodigy beasts trapped in infant bodies.

They'd surpass Toby almost immediately.

And Toby? He'd be left behind. The eldest by birth, but forever the child in mind, watching his younger siblings surpass him in every way.

Alone.

Viktor's jaw tightened. He couldn't have that.

His eyes flickered with something cold, calculating. "Hey, System," he said quietly, his voice dropping into that particular cadence he used when he was thinking through a problem. "The hunters who die in my dungeon—they drop intelligence stats too, right?"

[...]

The blue interface flickered into existence before his eyes.

[AFFIRMATIVE.]

[All killed within dungeon without resurrection bracelets will drop their core statistics as loot. Host can manually distribute: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, Charisma—all transferable to designated subordinates.]

"Good," Viktor murmured, his mind racing, pieces clicking together like a puzzle solving itself.

He looked down at Toby, who had fallen back into drowsy contentment against his shoulder. "Then designate this punk as a dungeon subordinate. Direct recipient of intelligence drops."

[ACKNOWLEDGED.]

[Transferring Toby Voss to Dungeon Subordinate Status.]

[However, recommend caution: Subject age 6. Intelligence stat transfer may cause psychological stress if advancement exceeds development stage.]

"I'm not asking for him to become a genius overnight," Viktor said with a slight curve to his lips. "Just... make sure he doesn't fall behind. Keep it slow and on a developmental basis with his growth."

[ALERT: Declaring Toby's physical location to within the dungeon structure...]

'Stop.' He paused, turning the matter over in his head.

[Process stopped.]

Viktor realized that by declaring Toby as his subordinate, he would most likely transfer him directly to the dungeon. That would naturally be a very bad thing.

Though initiated, those stats for Toby did not send him to the dungeon; there was simply a way he had just thought of.

"Actually, hold on," he said, snapping his fingers as the idea solidified. "Add eligibility restrictions to the dungeon. Age requirement: twenty years or older."

[UNDERSTOOD.]

[Implementing age gate. Restricting dungeon access to individuals twenty years of age minimum.]

And with that, he had just protected Toby by creating a contrasting override over the dungeon, making Toby ineligible to even enter the dungeon for 20 years.

Though this will not affect him or the puppets or monsters since they were typically for those with a lower age limit.

And who knows, that dungeon could really become a farm ground for him to nurture his own children in the future.

[Any more changes?]

"Hm, about guard issues..." Viktor thought about how the arrival of the explorers and outsiders in this broken territory could easily lead to crimes and takeover.

He needed to use the dungeon itself to become a guard to keep the people of this place not just safe but also to win their favor.

"Tie it to the village goodwill system," Viktor continued, his strategic mind already three steps ahead. "Make it so hunters earn credit points from assisting the villagers—genuine help, not token shit. Repairs, food, security, genuine labor. The more credit they accumulate, the higher their dungeon priority when spots open up."

Toby made a small, sleepy sound against his shoulder, completely unaware of the strategic conversation happening above his head.

[IMPLEMENTING CREDIT-BASED ACCESS SYSTEM.]

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