The rookies stood there in shock.

"Hey! Rookies!"

A vent high on the wall burst open with a clang.

Grika hopped out. The goblin engineer was wearing her new "Head of R&D" uniform: grease-stained overalls that had been tailored to accentuate her curves (mostly because she refused to wear anything loose near moving parts), a tool belt that weighed more than she did, and a pair of welding goggles pushed up on her forehead.

She landed on top of the chest, crouching like a gargoyle.

"You call that dodging?" Grika cackled, pointing a heavy wrench at Lena. "My grandmother dodges better than that, and she's a literal fungus!"

Lena bristled, her face flushing a deep, angry red that matched the "Failed" light on the slot machine. Her hand went to her sword hilt. "You! The shortstack!"

"That's Chief Engineer Shortstack to you, tin-can!" Grika grinned, revealing rows of sharp, shark-like teeth. She tapped the glass of the slot machine chest with her heel. "You triggered the RNG Protocol. You pulled the lever. You gambled. You lost. The House always wins! Didn't you read the sign? 'Tier 2: High Risk, High Reward, High Velocity Spanking'!"

"We didn't gamble!" Lena shouted, her voice echoing off the copper pipes. "We tried to loot! That's how dungeons work!"

"Not anymore, sweetheart!" Grika laughed. She hopped down from the chest, walking right up to the warrior.

The size difference was comical. Lena was a tall, armored woman who could probably bench press a horse if she was angry enough. Grika barely came up to her waist. But the goblin projected an aura of manic, explosive confidence that made Lena take an involuntary half-step back.

"You want the good stuff?" Grika poked Lena's breastplate with her wrench. Clink. "You gotta pay the toll. Or be smarter. Or luckier. Right now? You're batting zero for three. And Brin looks like he sat on a beehive."

Brin groaned from the floor, clutching the empty vial of 'Pity Potion.' "It tastes... like regret... and shame, " he wheezed.

"Oh, you got experience," Grika winked at him. "You experienced gravity. And blunt force impact trauma. That builds character!"

She reached into her tool belt, rummaging past fuses and sticks of dynamite, and pulled out a small, shiny brass token. It was stamped with the dungeon's new crest: A crown of thorns wrapped around a pizza slice.

She flipped it to Tessa. The mage caught it, looking at the object with scholarly fascination.

"Here. A 'Free Spin' token," Grika explained, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Use it on the next door. It bypasses the entry fee for the 'Wheel of Misfortune.' Or don't. Maybe the next trap juggles you with fire. Who knows? I don't! I just build 'em!"

"Wheel of... Misfortune?" Tessa asked, looking terrified but intrigued.

Grika didn't answer. She saluted mockingly, then sprinted toward a hidden panel in the wall that slid open with a smooth, oiled glide.

"Enjoy the grind, scrubs! And tell Brin to do some squats! He's too aerodynamic! He flew like a majestic, screaming kite!"

She vanished into the wall just as Lena swung her broadsword in a fit of rage, the blade hitting nothing but empty air and sparking against the stone.

The War Room

High above the chaos, in the cool, silent obsidian sanctum of the War Room, Reed watched the screen.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[Blue Mana Generated: 45 MP]

[Source: Frustration / Humiliation / Greed]

"Forty-five mana," Reed noted, impressed. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the thrum of the dungeon's infrastructure beneath his boots. "That's a good start. Brin's suffering alone paid for the magical lighting in the lobby for the next day."

"Emotional harvesting is far more efficient than lethal harvesting," Maira agreed. She stood at his right hand, her amber eyes flicking between three different holographic screens. Her ledger was open, and her quill was moving in a blur. "When an adventurer dies, they release mana once. A singular, final burst. Inefficient. But when they are humiliated? When they 'almost' win? They release mana continuously as they seethe about it. It is a renewable resource."

"And the best part?" Reed pointed to the screen.

Down in the Hall of Hands, Brin was finally standing up, rubbing his backside. Lena was screaming at the wall, kicking the slot machine chest. But they weren't leaving. They were arguing about who should open the next door.

"They want revenge," Reed said, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "They want to beat the machine. They're hooked."

He rubbed his temples. The "Tired Dad" energy was strong tonight. Running a dungeon was exhausting enough when it was just a hole in the ground. Now that it was a corporation, the mental load was heavier than Terra.

"Tier 2 is operational," Reed muttered. "The trap works. The ecosystem is live."

"Sir," Maira said, her voice shifting from analytical to urgent. "We have increased foot traffic at the Perimeter. The 'Crowd' is arriving."

Reed looked at the secondary monitors.

The sun had fully set outside. The new bridge, a masterpiece of Dwarven engineering and Reed's drained bank account, was lit by torches. And it was busy.

It wasn't just Lena's party anymore. The rumors had spread. The glow of the casino lights against the dark mountain was a beacon.

A group of "Iron Rank" mercenaries, rough men with rusted chainmail and muddy boots, were arguing with the Bouncers at the main gate.

"What do you mean 'Dress Code'?" one mercenary shouted, spitting on the pristine cobblestones. "I have gold! Let me into the shiny part!"

Standing in his way was Bertha, the lead Orc Matron. She was wearing a tight waistcoat and a headset crystal. She crossed her massive green arms, her biceps bulging like boulders.

"NO SHIRT. NO SHOES. NO SERVICE," Bertha rumbled. She pointed a thumb toward the Tier 2 entrance (the scary cave mouth). "YOU GO LEFT. THE GRIND IS THAT WAY. VIP IS RIGHT WAY."

"I ain't going into the grinder!" the merc yelled, reaching for his axe.

Bertha didn't flinch. She simply cracked her knuckles. The sound was like a tree snapping in a storm. Behind her, a Void Bunny phased through the wall, holding a tray of drinks, and silently shook her head at the mercenary before vanishing again.

The mercenary hesitated, looked at Bertha's tusks, looked at the terrifyingly clean casino entrance, and grumbled. He turned left. He chose the Grind.

"Separation of clientele is holding," Maira noted. "The Bouncers are effective. However... we have a bottleneck."

"What kind of bottleneck?"

"A Shark," Maira said, tapping the glass. "Approaching the bridge."

Reed looked at the main feed. The air in the War Room seemed to drop a few degrees.

A carriage had just pulled onto the bridge.

It wasn't a standard noble's transport. It was a sleek, hearse-like carriage made of lacquered black wood that seemed to absorb the torchlight rather than reflect it. The wheels didn't rumble; they hissed. And the horses...

"Shadow Steeds," Reed whispered. "Those aren't animals. Those are summons."

The horses were made of semi-solid darkness, their manes flickering like black fire. As the carriage rolled across the bridge, the other travelers, the mercenaries, the merchants, the gawkers, scrambled out of the way, pressed against the railings in sudden, instinctive fear.

The carriage stopped at the velvet rope marking the VIP entrance.

The door opened. No footman opened it. It opened itself.

A woman stepped out.

She was tall, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk that seemed to flow around her like water. She wore a heavy veil that obscured her face, but her presence was undeniable.

Reed could see the mana radiating off her even through the surveillance crystal. It was a deep, dark violet, the color of old bruises and expensive wine. It pulsed in sync with the dungeon's own heartbeat.

"Madam Vesper," Reed recognized the profile from Kaelen's intelligence reports. "The Info-Broker. The Shadow of the Capital."

"Her mana density is... significant," Maira warned, her tail twitching with agitation. "She is not here to gamble, Sir. She is scanning the architecture. She is looking for the seams."

On the screen, Vesper paused. She tilted her veiled head up, looking directly at the hidden camera crystal in the gargoyle's eye. She knew.

She raised a gloved hand and waved. A small, mocking gesture.

"She knows we're watching," Reed realized, standing up and buttoning his velvet coat. The "Post-Nut Clarity" buff from the cuddle pile was long gone, replaced by the cold thrill of a high-stakes game.

"Maira, take over the dungeon view," Reed ordered, his voice snapping into command mode. "Keep the Rookies alive, but barely. Feed them just enough hope to keep them moving deeper. I want that Blue Mana ticker climbing."

"And you, Sir?" Maira asked, already redirecting a squad of Bone-Maids to the lower levels via the Hive Mind.

"I'm going to the Casino Floor," Reed said. His eyes flared with violet light, the Void Shard in his chest reacting to the presence of another powerful magic user.

"We built this place to catch Whales," Reed said, walking toward the door. "But I think we just caught a Shark. Let's see if she bites."

[SYSTEM ALERT]

[Event Triggered: THE HIGH ROLLERS]

[Guest Rank: S-Tier (Social/Magical)]

[Threat Level: HIGH]

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