Ian sighed as he finally climbed out of the wagon to stretch his legs. A two?month journey by wagon was not his idea of a good time, but needs must and all that.

  “Don’t unload the wagons yet,” he called out. “Just the survey team and the druids—dismount and armor up.”

  There were a plethora of responses as nearly thirty people began prepping for a dungeon delve. For a newborn dungeon, that was usually overkill, but the Mages’ Guild had been adamant that this one had strange readings.

  “Are we sure there’s even an entrance yet?” someone called out.

  As if in response, the ground rumbled and there was an explosion of dirt and water upward in the middle of the swamp.

  “That is a classic dungeon breach if I ever saw one,” Ian called out. “And I’ve seen a few. It’s a bit bigger than I’m used to, but this dungeon’s been bottled up for a while.” He began strapping on his half?plate armor, keeping one eye on the swamp. That was when he heard a familiar cry.

  “We’ve got beast goblins at the very least,” he informed the others.

  He eyed his weapons in the back of the wagon. For this delve, he would use his spear and a smaller heater shield. With a nod, he grabbed his loadout.

  There was a general groan at the news of beast goblins. They were never that bad on their own, but fights with feral beast goblins got messy very fast if they had numbers.

  “The noise was a bit higher?pitched than I’m used to,” Ian added. “So probably not evolved from badgers, at least.”

  There was a collective sigh of relief.

  “Hopefully the dungeon doesn’t consider the gear the goblins are wearing as loot,” Tybalt, the elven ranger, called out. “I don’t care if it’s technically usable.”

  Ian chuckled. “This dungeon’s too young to have been given currency yet, so don’t expect the best loot.”

  “We’ll see,” Crag, the dwarven heavy legionnaire, inserted. He was fully decked out in full plate with a tower shield, and was even carrying both a warhammer and a spear.

  “You sure you want to be loaded down with all that?” Ian asked.

  “Are you sure you want to go into that swamp with all that fur?” Crag shot back. “Last I heard, a wet mastiff smells just as bad as any other wet canine.”

  Ian chuckled. He and Crag had been friends for years. If it weren’t for the number of times Crag had saved his life, he would have sworn the dwarf hated him for being eight feet tall and built like a wall.

  “At least I won’t vanish into the first puddle we cross,” Ian teased back.

  “Battlemaster Ian!” a voice cut through their conversation. “The druid circle stands ready. My four acolytes and I will support you. No need to worry about losing the dwarf in a puddle.”

  Crag looked mock?offended as Ian and Tybalt bent over laughing. By the time they reined in their laughter, the other dozen or so adventurers had arrived.

  “All right,” Ian began, grin fading into professionalism. “We’re here to evaluate how malicious this dungeon is. It’s new, so we can’t expect perfect etiquette. As this is the first dive, no one gets loot until everything’s evaluated and the reports are processed. Even if a legendary treasure drops—no hoarding. You try to hide something from me and I’ll put you down myself. If I miss, the Thieves’ Guild representative won’t. And if he somehow does, the assassin will.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  There was a heavy silence.

  “We’ve got people from every major guild here,” Ian continued. “So unless you want to dishonor your organization and lose all future rights to this dungeon, follow the rules. Scouts out front. Squishies in the middle. Tanks form a ring. This dungeon looks free?range. We can’t explore the whole swamp, but we *can* mitigate ambushes with proper formations. Form up.”

  At his command, everyone moved quickly into position. The druids, of course, remained at the front of the ranged line. The excitement on their faces felt like a good omen. Leaving sixty members of the support staff behind to guard the caravan, the expedition advanced into the swamp.

  The first thing Ian noticed was the smell. Yes, it smelled like a swamp—but beneath that was a deep, rich earthiness he’d only ever encountered in freshly plowed fields. The second thing was the vitality. Even without clear sightlines through the dense swamp forest, he could *feel* the land’s strength as they crossed into the dungeon’s influence.

  It was strong. Very strong—for a young dungeon.

  “I like it already,” the head druid—Cooper, if Ian remembered correctly—said with a pleased rumble. The bearkin was a massive presence even by druid standards. “The trees are singing and the earth is content. The dungeon has adopted this place successfully.”

  “Adopted?” Ian asked.

  “Indeed,” Cooper replied, stepping beside him. “There are things here that do not belong to the dungeon.”

  “Oh?”

  “All I’m getting from the trees are shells and teeth,” Cooper admitted. “They’re far too eager to share. As if they’ve got excess vitality. I wouldn’t be surprised if a dryad is already forming.”

  Ian groaned. Dryads always complicated things. If they weren’t dungeon?born, they inevitably adopted the local dungeon—and always took its side.

  “Cheer up,” Cooper said, patting Ian on the back. “That’s why we druids are here. We speak the same language as the dryad. We’ll keep her in check.”

  “I hope so,” Ian muttered as they pressed on.

  He did appreciate the druids firming the ground beneath their feet as they moved. But what he saw next made his blood run cold.

  About forty feet ahead, an ant the size of a small dog scuttled across the mud.

  Before anyone could react, a massive leathery head burst from the water. A huge turtle snapped up the ant as though it were a treat.

  “Well, there are the shells,” Tybalt called out.

  “And there are leeches on the shell,” someone else added. “So there are your teeth.”

  Before anyone could respond, beast goblins descended upon the turtle.

  But they didn’t attack it.

  Instead, they plucked leeches from the turtle’s shell and shoved them into their mouths. Ian squinted, studying them. Black fur on their limbs. Red eyes. Floppy ears.

  “Rabbits,” a scout called out. “Evolved from rabbits. Less outright hostility.”

  “But more territorial—and they breed like mad,” Ian finished. “They’ll need regular culling.”

  At that moment, one goblin vanished down the turtle’s gullet. The rest scattered immediately.

  “Or maybe the swamp will self?regulate,” someone muttered.

  They continued on for another hour. There were scattered fights—some with ornery turtles, others with endless swarms of leeches. Only once did the goblins attempt an attack before retreating. Despite spotting more ants, the creatures never showed aggression. Even when the party passed within five feet, the ants ignored them, gathering plant matter before sprinting off to their duties.

  The loot was decent. Not exceptional, but expected for a dungeon this young. Herbs, mushrooms, meat, small veins of ore.

  All things considered, it wasn’t a bad haul.

  “I’m calling it here,” Ian announced. “Let’s head back. The deeper we go, the stranger this gets.”

  As they turned, a minor war was unfolding between an irritable snapping turtle and a pack of beast goblins. While the spectacle was tempting, Ian had seen enough.

  The dungeon was still claiming territory. Still growing.

  But it was playing by the rules.

  It hadn’t targeted them. In fact, he suspected it had actively *avoided* them at times—redirecting ants or goblins to prevent ambushes.

  Despite the chaos of the swamp, Ian found himself looking forward to what this place might become once the dungeon had time to organize.

  With a sigh, he untied one of the bags at his hip and tossed it into deeper water, hoping the dungeon would absorb it.

  Then he turned and led his people back out of the swamp.