There must be some way to move my core independently of my domain.

It just makes sense, it feels natural.

Huh. It feels natural. Now that I think about it, that’s strange.

I can’t explain it, really. It’s like I have an urge to try to discover a means of untethered movement, yet it’s more subtle than that. Almost like the time I first used my sense on my surroundings.

One thing is for sure though, now that I’ve identified this longing, I can confirm that it’s not just me being optimistic. It’s more nuanced than that.

Dare I say it?

An instinct…

How suspiciously convenient, don’t think I’ll ignore this opportuneness! No, there is something afoot!

Filing that train of thought away for later, I return to my earlier activities.

If I’m going to be instinctively guided to the solution (Shady as that is.) then I might as well play along.

Ok then, what feels right?

And I think I’ve got it! Was that too easy? Eh.

I concentrate on an empty space within the temporary laboratory and will a tiny sphere of my domain to shift.

Without any mana expenditure and seemingly no discomfort, I detect the relevant portion of my domain moving. More specifically, it phases into the adjacent region of my domain and gets promptly annihilated, thus leaving behind a sphere of space in which I have no dungeon control. A perfect cutout.

That’s neat, it looks like I now have a way to relinquish domain control that doesn’t involve blocking the path to my core. I can see that being useful for operations on the surface or in similar large open spaces. What seems strange to me is that I haven’t noticed my lack of the fundamental ability to ‘delete’ domain space until now.

To truly test my capabilities, I shift my point of view to one of the ex-volcano tubes exiting the captured cavern. This tunnel opens up into the cavern from several meters above the ‘ground,’ (I say ground with caution, there is no set ‘ground level’ as the cavern is very irregular, sporting multiple terraces on which life flourishes and water babbles.) embedded in a sheer cliff face. The wall I’d crafted when claiming this territory still remains, however by now the native wildlife has reclaimed the once-bare stone surface.

Towards the bottom of my artificial wall is a grate of sorts, though it’s really just a series of dozens of small holes to allow water to pass. Flowing out from the blocked tunnel and cascading down the cliff is a moderately sized brook of clear water.

I’m here because just past this wall lays one of my dungeon’s borders. The question is; how does my domain react to being moved into unclaimed territory? I’m pretty sure the answer is obvious, but it’s still important to verify.

This time I will a sphere of domain space to move beyond my domain’s current boundary.

Predictably, the sphere passes effortlessly, drifting away from the metaphorical wall formed by my domain’s edge.

The space vacated by the sphere is now unclaimed, thus proving this is not a way to create domain, just relocate it.

The sphere of control which only I am capable of seeing abruptly blinks out of existence once it’s a few centimeters away.

I repeat the experiment with domain cutouts of different sizes and shapes, but the maximum offset distance remains absolute. Most fascinatingly, there seems to be a harsh limit of separation between adjacent portions of domain before I permanently lose my connection to the isolated region.

What process governs this behavior? This is a question I can not even begin to fathom as I still have no idea what a dungeon’s domain really is. It’s useful, yes, intuitive, also yes, but mysterious just the same.

Proceeding with a few more tests, I discover that I can only move a few cubic meters of my domain around at will. That’s a pretty restrictive limit, no?

My trials have left me with a deep-seated satisfaction which I can recognize as being more than simply the result of sated curiosity. What I’m doing right now seems to be fundamentally connected with my existence as a dungeon core. Why would that be so? As before, I just know there’s more to it than what I’ve seen so far.

With that in mind, I allow my urges to inspire me. Though of course, active thought is still a major determinant, what else could explain why it has taken me so long to attempt this?

I should be able to anchor the effect to a physical object. I gather up differently sized pebbles of rhyolite and even limestone which I levitated from the deeper strata uncovered by the cave systems. While I may not have expanded my dungeon nearly that deep, I still have my observational strands of domain to operate through.

Speaking of which, I should get back to exploring soon, who knows what else lives down here? Not me, and for that, I have no excuses.

In addition to stone, I bring forth a bowl of water, the silver fork which I forgot to return, ingots of different metals, bones, an ember blossom plant, loamy soil, and some magicite crystals.

In a way utterly indescribable to a non-dungeon, I will a portion of my domain to fix itself to a rhyolite pebble. This time there is a noticeable drain on my mana! At least that means something is happening!

It takes about thirty minutes to perform, yet I can automagically tell it will take longer depending on the volume of domain I’m anchoring. Not that I’ll be relying on intuition, I fully intend to verify my hunch experimentally.

The sphere of domain is firmly affixed to the pebble. Tentatively levitating the small stone, I witness the attached domain move relative to it! In addition to being translationally constrained to the pebble’s position, it is also rotationally constrained. In essence, it behaves similarly to how my whole domain does when my core is moved. Just on a smaller scale.

With high hopes, I move the isolated pocket of domain away from my primary domain. As it passes the threshold at which I was previously unable to move domain pockets any further…

It fails again. What use is this if I can’t even extend the range?

The next test provides the answer; I can move significantly more domain if I first anchor it. The drawback is that it takes time to anchor as well as mana. Unlike before where I was only able to move a few cubic meters, I can move several dozen cubic meters at a time, though it takes about fifteen minutes to fully anchor.

Unfortunately, several dozen cubic meters seem to be the limit for this pebble at least.

Trying the remaining rhyolite chunks of varying sizes, I observe that size does indeed have an impact on the movable volume, though the difference is underwhelming.

Onwards, I try the other remaining materials.

Standardized to mass, I’ve listed the materials in order of increasing anchorable volume:

All transition metals in my possession (Silver, copper, tin, iron, etc.) – Unable to be used as anchors.

Liquid water – Unable to be used as an anchor. I saw that one coming.

Ember blossom flower – Very small volume, approximately one-hundredth of the volume an equally massed rhyolite piece could’ve handled.

Soil ball – Similarly ineffective.

Rhyolite – Several dozen cubic meters, just as before.

Limestone – Slightly better than rhyolite.

Bone – Superior to limestone.

Magicite crystal – Vastly superior to everything else, with just one measly hour of concentration, I can anchor an apparent maximum of two hundred cubic meters. That’s nearly the volume of three historic 12.2 m long shipping containers combined! Indeed, I was forced to expand more of my domain into the tunnel to even test that upper limit!

With the ability to move so much volume relative to an object, in this case, a magicite crystal, many doors have opened up to me. Especially those involving gigantic moving mechanisms.

Additionally, I’ve discovered that as long as I maintain a wide enough thread of domain to connect the moving anchor back to my dungeon proper, I can relocate it anywhere! No longer does the isolation distance seem so restrictive.

Still, I haven’t found a solution to my dilemma. The inexplicable mental effect which first urged me to pursue these discoveries seemed to imply that through them I would discover my answer. What have I missed?

Perhaps the solution lies in the material used… My understanding of the new rules of this reality is still completely lacking, oh what I would give to comprehend exactly why it is that magicite performs better than the other materials. What even is magicite? How does it form? What properties govern its behavior?

My domain is truly massive, it seems unlikely that I’ll be able to anchor the whole thing to a singular object.

Hmm…

There is something decidedly magical which I haven’t tried yet. A ‘soulstone.’

Yes, yes!! It makes perfect sense! Soulstones exhibit properties which slightly resemble those of magicite. Furthermore, they are the physical substrate of a dungeon core and are thus intrinsically linked to the baffling phenomena which I refer to as a ‘dungeon domain.’ Could there be anything more promising?

I do not own a soulstone. But I’ve seen a few mages with them in their possession.

What I’m about to do… I’m not proud of…

You see, something is tickling me to acquire one right now, yes, I’ll blame it on that. It’s the perfect crime, really. I mean, who would suspect a sapient dungeon? Something the inhabitants of this world refuse to believe in.

Oh sure, I could purchase one, but I want it now!

Actually, if I’m going to take it, I might as well offer a token of my appreciation. As I don’t know what a soulstone is valued at, I suppose a, in my opinion, generous sum of three thousand pieces will suffice. In any event, I can keep an ear open for any reports of theft, if I hear none, the mage will have likely been satisfied.

The sunset a few hours ago, so now is my time. My target is one of the combat mages I noticed wielding an intriguing traditional crossbow augmented with a few runic mechanisms. Honestly, I can barely keep myself from taking that as well.

He is sleeping in a small dormitory. Quite frankly, I’m amazed at how fast Sevit has developed. With their limited technology, I can’t even begin to explain how this has been possible. Even through the liberal application of levitation runes and the use of particularly shoddy craftsmanship, I can’t comprehend it. I wonder how their structures will hold up through the long haul.

His building is a communal living accommodation attached to the barracks. The regular soldiers all live in bunks, however, I’ve noticed that battlemages receive fancier living arrangements. It makes sense, their crafts presumably take longer to learn. Mana manipulation is no easy feat!

Anyway, during my prior snooping I saw the mage take out and inspect the stone, thus revealing its location. It rests in a padded wooden box which in turn sits inside a locked drawer. Fortunately, three factors work in synergy to make lockpicking a trivial activity for me.

For starters, every lock I’ve seen so far has been painfully rudimentary. Second, I’m able to easily extend a filament of my domain through the internal mechanism and taste/feel my way around the primitive tumblers. Finally, through the careful application of telekinesis, I can slide them into their unlocked states.

It takes me no longer than thirty seconds. Once inside, I quietly ease the tarnished brass latch on the wooden box open and loft out the opaque red crystal cluster which has that unsettling taste of nothingness I’d observed long ago.

As I levitate my prize out through the open window, I bring in thirty one-hundred-piece coins and gently place them into the drawer.

It’s fortunate that I’m actually able to levitate this soulstone in the first place. I’m unable to lift my own core, so I was unsure if that’d be the case here as well.

Much like my core, this soulstone is an irregular cluster of small pointy crystals. Unlike mine, however, it is smaller. While my core is ten centimeters wide, this one is just three. What that tells me is that it was at no point a dungeon core, apparently, all cores are approximately the same size.

Now it’s time to see how well it serves as a domain anchor.