Worthy Core

It's surprisingly easy to kill someone, especially once your body count reaches the triple digits. Although Xenia's never been the type to keep count, across her many lifetimes she still knows for a fact that her own count reaches well into the five figures, without even counting unintentional knock-on effects. Many of them deserved it, probably even most - although 'most' is still a very, very far cry from 'all'. Though she hates to admit it, even that becomes easy enough to deal with after enough time. Hell, it's not even the first time she's watched as someone cradled the body of a loved one at her feet, screaming to the heavens.

That part, though. That part has never gotten easy.

The unusually quiet dungeon master shifts on the chair she made out of stone, rabbit fur and leather. It's a shitty chair, but it feels well suited for a shitty mood. Feeling the need to break the silence though, she speaks out to Guy, halfway across the room.

"I was a Demon Lord once, you know?"

Turning at the sound of her voice, Guy hovers their way closer. "A demon lord, eh? Not sure this world has a title like that, though there's perhaps something similar. Demons, certainly. How was it?"

Xenia chuckles. "Shitty. Or I should say, I was a shitty Demon Lord. Only made it two months on that life. Y'know why?"

"I imagine some plucky young hero came and put a stop to your wicked ways?" A slight smile reaches Xenia's lips.

"Think y'know by now my wicked ways never stop. Nah, I never even met a hero, not on that run anyhow. I started out with a goblin tribe, right? Decent starter minions, worshiped me as a god and all that. And it was good for a while! We rolled our way across every other tribe in the area, absorbing most of them into the new Demon Lord Army and killing the ones that wouldn't sign up. Problem is...every Phase 1 is followed by a Phase 2. And Phase 2 of being a Demon Lord with a Goblin Army is going after peasant villages. Goblin armies don't feed themselves, y'know? And you gotta keep building up, get some practice in before the 'civilized' armies can try to respond."

"I see. Wasn't your line of work, then?" Sir Flopsy hops his way over to Xenia's chair, and she scoops him up and begins to pet him absentmindedly.

"I actually got swept up with it for a bit, you know? Goblins are a lot of fun when you get to know them! Wish I could say I kept it under control, but...nah, we hit at least three villages directly, and who knows how many got hit by scouting parties. I mostly kept to the heaviest fighting myself, right, crushing the morale of the local militias with my whole 'The Demon Lord has returned!' speech and all that. Wasn't til the third one that I really walked through in the middle of the 'pillaging the village' stage, and just..." The woman trails off, eyes looking at nothing in particular. "Anyways, I just kinda shut down for a while after that. Stopped giving the army orders and we just kinda sat there for like three weeks. The goblins hated it, of course, and eventually one of them blatantly poisoned one of my meals just to try and stir me up."

After a moment of no follow-up, Guy decides to prod. "...And what did you do?"

Xenia sighs. "I ate the fuckin' poison. And onto the next round."

Unsure how to respond, Guy takes a while to answer. "...There are alternatives to lethality, I should say. There are dungeons who have established 'merciful' modes, where those who prove their good intent towards the dungeon face lowered or nonexistent lethal threats. It limits their ability to grow drastically, but the option does exist." Xenia only scowls at the suggestion though.

"Well and good for them, Guy, but I have three rooms! Three. Fucking. Rooms! I don't have the luxury of establishing 'intent' or shit like that, someone could get from the door to my core in less than a minute with some fancy footwork! You gotta be strong before you can go just, offering people the rope to hang themselves with...and we're not strong. Not even close."

"...And becoming strong requires the occasional fallen adventurer."

Xenia scratches between Flopsy's ears. "Fuckin' Catch-22 right there. But I'm not giving up, Guy, not this time. I hate dying, you know? It really, really fucking sucks. So for now...we do what we gotta do. Someone walks in here, they take their chances. Someone tries to kill me, I'm trying twice as hard right back. Maybe one day...but I dunno. Probably pointless worrying about the far future right now. So, whatever...hit me, Guy."

The floating screen seems unsure how to react. "...Should I fly at you, or...?" Xenia rolls her eyes.

"Nah, dude. The report or whatever. What's our blood earnings for the day?"

"Ah, of course! One moment..." Pulling back into their logs, Guy generates a new screen.

Xenia halfheartedly reads through the list before her attention snaps back to the top, causing her to dump Flopsy onto the ground as she jumps to her feet. "GUY! We've got adventurers living in our basement!?"

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

On a nearby mountain peak, not far to the north, a gnoll watches a curious sight through a well-worn spyglass. Partway up Triple Peak Mountain, it appears as if an orc woman is hastily packing up supplies from a camp - a camp far too large for one woman.

"Little orc, little orc...running home you are, certainly, definitely. But where did you come from? Curious indeed..."