Peace, I had discovered, was a delicate ecosystem. It required careful cultivation, constant vigilance against invasive species of drama, and a reliable source of high-quality carbohydrates. My cottage was my greenhouse. Elara's sourdough was my sunlight. And my current strategy of deliberate, painstaking mediocrity was the nutrient-rich soil in which my tranquility grew.
It was a beautiful system. And like any beautiful system, it was time to introduce a variable that would threaten to throw the whole thing into chaos. This variable was named 'Flimsy Pickaxe,' and it cost me three copper coins from a surly dwarf at the general store.
The quest was, on paper, the perfect embodiment of my new philosophy.
Quest: Mine Iron Ore
Rank:F
Location:The Whispering Caverns (Beginner's Dungeon)
Objective:Collect 10 units of Raw Iron Ore.
Reward:20 Copper Coins, 1 Guild Promotion Point
Timeframe:1 Week
Note:The Whispering Caverns is a low-difficulty dungeon populated primarily by Cave Bats and Stone Slimes. Recommended for parties of 2-3 F-Rank adventurers. Caution is advised.
It was perfect. A week-long timeframe for a task I could complete in minutes. A "low-difficulty" dungeon that would be a deathtrap for a normal person, but for me was a slightly damp walk. And the reward was pathetic enough that no one would look twice at me. It was the quintessential Bob Quest.
I arrived at the mouth of the Whispering Caverns, a dark, yawning hole in the side of a mossy hill, flanked by two slightly bored-looking town guards who were playing dice. They barely glanced at my F-Rank tag and waved me through. The entrance was littered with the remnants of other adventurers: a broken arrow, a scrap of cloth, a single, forlorn-looking leather glove. It was the fantasy equivalent of a "Watch for Falling Rocks" sign.
I took a deep breath of the damp, cool air and activated my standard operating procedure.
'Absolute Stealth.'
The world went silent around me. My presence vanished. I was a void, a non-entity.
'Ultimate Appraisal: Raw Iron Ore within a 500-meter radius.'
My vision exploded with data. The cavern system unfolded in my mind like a 3D mineralogical survey. I saw the twisting tunnels, the stagnant underground pools, the colonies of sleeping Cave Bats (Level 1-3, Threat: Minimal), and the gelatinous, vaguely aggressive Stone Slimes (Level 2-4, Threat: Annoying). And I saw the ore. Glowing veins of raw iron, threading through the rock like metallic arteries.
Most were small, scattered deposits. But my eyes—or rather, my mind's eye—locked onto a massive, untouched vein about two hundred meters in, down a side tunnel that was too narrow for most parties to bother with. It was a motherlode. Enough ore to satisfy a hundred of these quests.
A slow, professional smile spread across my face. Time to go to work.
I moved. With [Physical Apex], my steps were silent and sure-footed on the uneven stone. I was a whisper in the dark. I passed a party of three struggling adventurers—a warrior, a mage, and a cleric, all looking about Level 5—who were cautiously poking a Stone Slime with a stick.
"Just… just keep hitting it, Borin!" the mage whispered, her voice trembling.
"It's not working!My sword just gets stuck!" the warrior, Borin, grunted.
"Have you tried praying?"the cleric offered, unhelpfully.
The slime jiggled menacingly.
I slid past them, unseen and unheard. Their struggle was the main questline. I was on a side mission. Our paths were not meant to cross.
I reached the narrow tunnel. It was a tight squeeze for a normal person. For me, it was a hallway. I reached the ore vein. It was a beautiful, glittering swath of raw metal, a testament to mundane, profitable geology.
Now, for the main event. [Infinite Inventory].
I didn't bother with the flimsy pickaxe. That was for amateurs. I placed my hand on the rock face and focused. I visualized the ore, not as part of the wall, but as a distinct object. I sorted it in my mind. 'Raw Iron Ore. Store.'
A section of the wall, roughly the size of a small cart, simply vanished. One moment it was there, a testament to millions of years of geological pressure. The next, it was floating in the timeless, dark void of my inventory, neatly sorted into a mental folder labeled 'Mining Quest.'
It was… deeply satisfying. It was the ultimate expression of efficient resource gathering. No noise. No dust. No effort. Just pure, instantaneous acquisition.
I repeated the process. Store. Store. Store. I was a cosmic vacuum cleaner for minerals. I moved down the vein, my hand passing over the rock, leaving smooth, empty stone in my wake. In less than thirty seconds, I had harvested enough ore to single-handedly crash the local iron market if I were so inclined. My quest counter was at 157/10. A modest overachievement.
I stood back, admiring my handiwork. The tunnel was now noticeably emptier. My work was done. I had been in the dungeon for all of five minutes. I could teleport home now, wait a few days, and then turn in the quest, claiming I'd "gotten lucky" with a small surface deposit.
But then, the optimizer in me, the ghost of my data-entry past, whispered a dangerous thought.
You're here. You have time. The appraisal map shows several other decent veins. Why not be thorough? Why not ensure you never have to take a mining quest again?
It was a slippery slope. This was how I'd gotten the Radiant Moonlight Herb. This was how ambition started. But the thought of a permanent, hassle-free supply of iron ore for any future crafting needs was… seductive.
"Fine," I muttered to myself, the sound swallowed by my stealth field. "A little more. For efficiency's sake."
I began to glide through the tunnels, a spectral miner reaping an invisible harvest. I cleaned out every significant deposit my appraisal highlighted. I became a force of geological erosion. I passed the struggling party again; they had finally defeated the slime and were now arguing over how to divide the single, slime-covered copper coin it had dropped. I felt a distant kinship. They were playing the game on 'Hard' mode. I was using the developer console.
It was during this automated harvesting trance that I saw it. A data point on the edge of my appraisal map that was… different.
It wasn't ore. It was a concentration of mana so pure and potent it glowed in my mental vision like a miniature star. It was nestled deep in the wall of a dead-end chamber, a place the natural tunnels didn't lead to, hidden behind three meters of solid rock.
[???]
Object Type:Dungeon Core (Lesser)
Status:Stable, Self-Sustaining
Function:Generates and regulates the dungeon's ambient mana field, responsible for low-level monster respawn rates and structural integrity.
Mana Signature:High. Cohesive.
Value:Priceless (to the dungeon). Catastrophically problematic (to anyone else).
A Dungeon Core. The heart of the dungeon. The source of its very existence. In every RPG I'd ever played, these were heavily guarded boss monsters. Here, it was just… sitting there. Unprotected. Probably because no one in living memory had the ability to [Ultimate Appraisal] their way through solid rock and the power to [Infinite Inventory] a magical, semi-sentient geological formation.
My brain, the same one that had seen a rare herb and thought 'early retirement,' now saw the Dungeon Core and thought one thing: Shiny.
It was a primal, idiotic impulse. The same part of me that wanted to press a big red button labeled "DO NOT PRESS." This wasn't a path to peace; this was a path to becoming a dungeon lord, which sounded like a massive amount of paperwork and responsibility.
Don't do it, my common sense screamed. This is the banana peel of dungeon diving. Walk away, Bob. Go home and eat sourdough.
But my curiosity, that traitorous beast, whispered back. It's just a little core. What's the worst that could happen? You can always put it back. It's basically a fancy rock. A very, very shiny, powerful, fancy rock.
The internal debate was brief and pathetic. My common sense never stood a chance.
I focused on the core, visualizing its precise location through the rock. I didn't need to dig. I just needed to… redefine what was 'mine' to take.
'Store.'
There was a faint, almost imperceptible lurch. It wasn't a physical sensation, but a spiritual one. A tiny, localized piece of reality hiccuped.
The three meters of rock between me and the core remained. But the Dungeon Core itself, the size of a large grapefruit and pulsing with soft, internal light, was now floating in my [Infinite Inventory], right next to my 157 units of Raw Iron Ore and my lifetime supply of sourdough.
For a moment, nothing happened. The cavern was silent.
Then, the whispers started.
The Whispering Caverns earned their name from the faint, wind-like sounds that sometimes echoed through the tunnels. But this was different. This was a rising crescendo of… distress. A high-pitched, keening whine that seemed to come from the very stone itself. The ambient mana in the air, which had felt stable and dull, suddenly became chaotic, lashing out like a severed artery.
The Cave Bats in a nearby chamber, previously docile, erupted into a frenzied cloud, squeaking in terror as they smashed into the walls and each other. The Stone Slimes I had so carefully avoided began to vibrate violently before dissolving into puddles of inert goo.
The ground beneath my feet trembled.
"Oh," I said, my voice small in the suddenly very loud silence. "That might have been a mistake."
It wasn't just a mistake. It was the mistake. The core wasn't just a generator; it was the dungeon's anchor. Its soul. I hadn't just turned off the power; I had performed a metaphysical heart transplant and thrown the old heart into a pocket dimension where time didn't flow.
The tremors intensified. A crack split the ceiling of the chamber I was in, raining down dust and pebbles. The groaning of stressed rock filled the air, drowning out the dying whispers.
From deeper in the dungeon, I heard panicked shouts. The party of three. They were still in here.
My first, most powerful instinct was to teleport out. Immediately. [Instant Transmission] back to my cottage, put the kettle on, and pretend this never happened. It was the safe choice. The smart choice. The Bob choice.
But then I saw them in my appraisal map. The three adventurers—Borin, the mage, and the cleric. Their vital signs were spiking with panic. They were trapped in a collapsing dungeon, and it was entirely my fault.
A memory flashed, unbidden: Leon, slumped in that alley, broken and alone. I had walked away then. Could I walk away now, knowing I'd directly caused the deaths of three people who were just trying to earn a living poking slimes with sticks?
Celian's voice echoed in my head. "The multiverse is counting on you!"
"Shut up, Celian," I muttered, but the damage was done. A tiny, atrophied sense of responsibility was twitching back to life.
This wasn't about being a hero. This was about being a decent person who doesn't accidentally murder bystanders while looting. It was a very, very low bar, and I was currently tripping over it.
"Fine!" I growled at the shuddering cavern. "Logistics! It's just a problem in logistics!"
The problem: A collapsing dungeon. Three civilians in the danger zone.
The solution:Evacuation.
I had the ultimate tool for the job. [Instant Transmission]. But I couldn't just appear in front of them. That would raise too many questions. I needed to be a force of nature. An unexplained miracle. A background event.
I focused on the trio. They were huddled under a rocky overhang as the tunnel behind them collapsed, cutting off their retreat. The ceiling above them was buckling.
Plan A: The Invisible Rescue.
I activated[Absolute Stealth] to its maximum and used [Physical Apex] to move. I became a blur, a shockwave of air. I reached them in less than a second. I could grab them, one by one, and teleport them out. But touching them might break my stealth. And the physical act of moving them at that speed could injure them. Too risky.
Plan B: The Illusory Path.
I could use[Mirage Crafting] to create an illusion of a safe, stable tunnel leading them out. But the actual physical tunnel was collapsing. An illusion wouldn't stop a falling boulder from crushing them. It was a cruel trick.
Plan C: The Direct Approach.
I needed to get them out,and I needed to do it in a way that left no evidence of my involvement. An idea, absurd and simple, formed. I focused on the space in front of the three adventurers. Then I focused on the empty field just outside the dungeon entrance, a location I could clearly visualize.
I wasn't going to move them. I was going to move the air around them.
It was a complex spatial calculation, but with [Ultimate Appraisal] feeding me exact coordinates and [Instant Transmission] allowing for precision on a sub-atomic level, it was theoretically possible. I visualized a bubble of space, exactly two meters in radius, centered on the three panicked adventurers. I included the ground beneath their feet.
'Store.'
The trio, the patch of ground they stood on, and the pocket of air they were breathing, vanished from the collapsing dungeon.
They appeared in my [Infinite Inventory], frozen in time. Borin had his mouth open in a mid-shout. The mage was covering her head. The cleric had his eyes squeezed shut. They were a perfect diorama of impending doom.
I then immediately 'retrieved' them, placing them back into the real world at the exact coordinates I'd designated outside the dungeon.
From their perspective, it would have been a blur of nauseating disorientation. One second, certain death. The next, standing on a sunny, grassy hill, the entrance to the Whispering Caverns a hundred yards away, groaning and spewing dust like a dying beast.
I watched from the shadows, still deep within the collapsing dungeon. The three adventurers stumbled, confused and disoriented, looking around with wild eyes. The two guards who had been playing dice were now on their feet, staring in shock at the escaping adventurers and the deteriorating dungeon entrance.
My work was done. Casualties: zero. My cover: intact, albeit with a new, bizarre town mystery—the "Miracle of the Whispering Caverns."
Now, for my own exit.
I turned to leave the way I came, but a section of the tunnel I'd entered through collapsed with a roar, sealing me in. No matter. [Instant Transmission] would take me home.
I focused on my cottage. The comfortable chair. The smell of bread.
Nothing happened.
A cold trickle of dread ran down my spine. I tried again. Visualized my kitchen. The warm, illusory light.
Still nothing.
'Ultimate Appraisal: Self.'
[Status Effect: Spatial Lock]
Cause:Catastrophic mana discharge from a collapsing dimensional anchor (Dungeon Core).
Effect:Prevents all teleportation and dimensional travel within the affected area. Area of effect: The entire Whispering Caverns dungeon.
Duration:Until the mana storm subsides (Estimated: 1-2 hours) or the core is re-stabilized.
I was trapped. By my own stupidity. The dungeon's death throes had created a magical dead zone, a teleportation quarantine. I could probably punch my way through the rock with [Physical Apex], but that would take time and effort, and who knew how structurally unsound the whole place was now?
There was another option. The core. I still had it. If I could somehow… re-stabilize it…
I pulled the Dungeon Core from my inventory. It sat in my palm, its light flickering erratically. It felt warm, and I could feel a faint, distressed pulse, like a dying heartbeat.
'Ultimate Appraisal.'
[Dungeon Core (Lesser)]
Status:Critical. Mana Dissipation Imminent.
Note:Removal from native environment has triggered a self-destruct sequence. Re-integration is impossible without a [Dungeon Core Stabilization Ritual] or equivalent high-level restoration magic.
I didn't have a ritual. I had seven Ultimate Skills, none of which were 'Dungeon Core CPR.'
But I did have [Mirage Crafting]. An idea, born of desperation and a deep, profound understanding of my own power's absurdity, bloomed in my mind.
What was a dungeon core, really? At its heart, it was a concept. A self-sustaining mana reactor that believed it was the heart of a dungeon. [Mirage Crafting] could make illusions physically real. What if I didn't try to fix the real core? What if I just… convinced the dungeon it still had one?
I focused all my will. I wasn't just creating an image. I was creating a concept. I used the data from my appraisal of the core before I'd stolen it as a blueprint. I visualized a perfect, stable, fully functional Dungeon Core, right where the original one had been, embedded in the rock.
I poured mana into the illusion—not my own, for I had no need of it, but I shaped the chaotic, lashing mana of the collapsing dungeon itself, using it as raw material. I weaved a tapestry of perception, not just for sight, but for the very fabric of the local reality.
[Mirage Crafting Lv. MAX]
The skill hummed, straining at a level I'd never attempted before. This wasn't making a silver coin or a comfortable chair. This was creating a fundamental, metaphysical component of the world and making the world believe it had always been there.
The flickering core in my hand winked out, its mana spent. It was now just a dull, lifeless rock.
But in the wall of the dead-end chamber, a new core shimmered into existence. It was a perfect replica. It pulsed with a steady, strong light. The chaotic mana in the air stuttered, then began to calm, flowing back towards the new core like iron filings to a magnet.
The violent tremors subsided into a gentle, settling rumble. The deafening groans of rock faded. The dying whispers of the caverns softened, then returned to their normal, wind-like murmur.
I stood there, panting slightly, not from exertion, but from the sheer, reality-bending audacity of what I had just done. I hadn't saved the dungeon. I had performed a metaphysical organ transplant with a prosthetic I'd fabricated out of thin air and stolen mana.
I waited, holding my breath. The spatial lock… it should be gone.
I focused on my cottage. The comfortable chair. The bread.
'Instant Transmission.'
The world turned. The damp, mineral-scented air of the cavern was replaced by the warm, comforting smell of my hidden home. I was standing in my living room. The entire debacle, from entry to collapse to miraculous save, had taken less than ten minutes.
I let out a long, shaky breath and sank into my perfectly crafted armchair. I was safe. I was home. I had 157 units of iron ore. And I had, through a series of catastrophic choices and even more catastrophic solutions, somehow become the secret, unwitting guardian of the Whispering Caverns, which was now powered by a figment of my imagination.
I looked at the dull, dead core I was still holding. A souvenir of my own incompetence. I tossed it into my inventory, where it landed next to the frozen family of Whisper Rats.
Outside, I knew, there would be confusion. The three adventurers would tell a wild story of a last-second miracle. The guards would report the dungeon's strange, violent fit and subsequent calm. Lily might hear the reports and file them away in her growing mental folder of 'Strange Events Coinciding with Bob's Proximity.'
But for now, it was over. I had my ore. I had my peace. And I had a newfound, bone-deep understanding that even with the power to reshape reality, the most dangerous thing in any world was a curious man with too much time on his hands and a complete lack of common sense.
I retrieved a loaf of sourdough from my inventory. It was still warm. I broke off a piece and chewed slowly, the familiar, tangy taste washing away the last of the adrenaline.
The dungeon was stable. My secret was safe. My retirement was back on track.
Now, I just had to wait a respectable six days before turning in my mining quest. A man in a hurry drew attention. And Bob was never, ever in a hurry.