As we strolled further in, I noted that the chamber bore the scars of heavy fighting, no doubt the battle that had been fought after my rather abrupt exit. Bricks were scorched and broken, and in some cases, stained crimson red. Prisoners in non-combatant garb that was little more than rags worked to scrub the stone clean.

I wonder if any of that’s mine, I thought to myself, morbidly.

There was one entrance (through which we came) and three exits at the opposite end of the room. Each of the exits looked considerably more official than the roughly constructed tunnel through which we’d arrived. I had no idea where the three paths led to, but I had little chance of finding out: each was guarded by a pair of wizards. (Or apprentices… to be perfectly honest, I still wasn’t sure how to tell the difference. Damn my lack of perception.)

There were a lot of prisoner’s present, and unlike my earlier visit to the chamber, most were frantically bustling around. Many of them were of the half-orc and barbarian persuasion, and there were quite a few who I instantly recognized from the rabble who had assaulted me, back in the canteen. (Although not, to my relief, there was no sign of the oversized would-be leader who had tried to kill me. I knew that a rematch was all but inevitable between us, but I needed an opportunity to grind my unarmed combat skills before I even considered tackling that bastard again).

A further survey of the chamber’s occupants revealed the most obvious clue as to the lair’s former purpose: the huge shadow stallion carcass that was lifelessly sprawled in the middle of the room. It was surrounded by prisoners, as a small army of swordsmen and their leather-clad female equivalent hacked away at the lifeless body for all they were worth. I couldn’t imagine that there was much XP to be gained from stabbing the grotesque dead thing, but then I noticed that the freshly cleaved monster flesh was being loaded into sacks, then loaded up in piles next to the tunnel. Like the cleaners, the players responsible for the haulage were dressed in little more than rags.

“Stop gawkin’” spat the dwarf. “Straighten up, put a bit of swagger in yer walk.”

I suddenly became conscious that if I was trying to make an impression on this general, I needed to look as strong as possible. I didn’t have much to boost my stats with, but I did have one such item, thanks to the light-fingered rogue. So, I opened my inventory and slipped on the only stat-enhancing trinket I possessed: The Ring of the Rising Alpha.

-[ The Ring of the Rising Alpha has been activated. Leadership +2 for the duration of use. Be aware, this item is capable of overriding the cap on the user’s leadership skill. ]-

I stared at my hand, expecting the ring to emit an aura of light or something, but there was no such side-effect. Nor was there a physical change to my avatar.

Damn, I was hoping for a crown, at least… I am the King of my cell now, after all.

But alas, this wasn’t one of those items that grants the player a visual upgrade. I hadn’t even gained a damn shirt. Keen to find some evidence that the battered piece of jewelry was actually working, I called up my stats again, this time focusing on the corresponding entry.

Leadership: 0+2 (Cap 2+2)

Well, the stat boost was definitely there, but I had to admit that I didn’t feel any different. I wasn’t sure that I trusted the stat to benefit me. Surely leadership was one of those things that depended on the player’s natural skill, not a number on a screen. Then again, I’d thought the exact same thing about charisma, and look how that had turned out. Ultimately, I decided that having an extra 2 points in my base stats couldn’t hurt, no matter what they happened to be allocated to. if Nyx’s perception was high enough, he would see them.

“Stop faffin’ about with yer status menu and get a move on,” called the dwarf, waving me to his side. I made a mental note to explain the definition of a slave to him at some point, before the asshole’s ego completely blew our cover. With a sigh, I jogged to his side.

“Hey Samusk, you should be announcing your master’s presence to the room,” I mocked, attempting to get under the dwarf’s skin a little more. “Be sure to use my full title though. That’s Emperor Shade, King of the noobs.”

It was intended as a joke, but to my surprise, the insignia on the dwarf’s shoulder began to pulse, and he immediately followed my request. What followed was a cringe-inducing announcement to the entire lair in which the dwarf decreed to all assembled that his master, Emperor Shade, King of the Noobs had now entered the chamber. The look on his face suggested that the words that were flowing from his lips were far from voluntary. The look on everyone else’s faces meanwhile, suggested that we now shared the title of the dungeon’s most slappable noob. I didn’t care, though. I was ecstatic.

“No fucking way,” I exclaimed, staring at my now beetroot companion. “Your slave status means you have to do everything I say, doesn’t it?”

“How in the hell did you override my personaware?” he spat in response. “Only slaveowners with the leadership skill can-” The dwarf stopped mid-sentence, his eye going to my newly adorned (albeit slightly battered) piece of bronze finger wear. “Oh for fuck’s sake! You never told me you had one of those.”

Of course. What was it the status message had said? ‘This slave has a higher leadership stat than his current master. Control may be difficult to exert.’ The dwarf had probably gained his first leadership point by bossing me around, that was why he’d felt safe to submit to me. But thanks to the ring I’d just surpassed him. I’d taken control of his avatar through luck, not via a cunning strategy. Still, the dwarf thought I was an idiot, and he needed to be taken down a peg or two. With that in mind, there was no point in telling him know that.

“Information is power, Samusk,” I replied in the incredibly smug tone of the master manipulator I wished I was. “You taught me that. So, like I asked you earlier, does this mean you have to do everything I say?”

The dwarf simply scowled at me.

“I order you to answer,” I continued, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes,” he curtly spat, “everything you ask.” His face was like thunder.

Oh, how the tables have turned…

“Don’t worry, I promise I won’t take advantage too much, even if I do still owe you for kicking me down that flight of stairs while I was unconscious.”

“Oi, I told you, that’s all lies.”

“I order you to tell me what really happened.”

“I decided to cut my losses and kicked ye down the stairs to finish ye off,” replied Samusk, completely without shame. “Figured it would be easier to find me a new bodyguard, but I hadn’t banked on yer resilience makin’ yeh so durable.” Furious with my newfound control over his avatar, the dwarf then proceeded to launch into a volley of expletives that would make even an orc blush.

Yeah, I could definitely get used to this. Not least because the dwarf had a ton of secrets, and I was eager to prise each and every one of them from his fat furry lips.

Two more orders were given, each demanding an answer. Powerless to resist, the dwarf had admitted that my rep loss meant nothing to him, and that he hadn’t rushed off to guard my respawn point during the fight, after all. He claimed that he had, however, gone to speak to NoobSlayer on my behalf. And that puzzled me. If Samusk had truly left me in the lurch to seek reinforcements, why not just say so in the first place. And the statement begged another question: had my would-be trainer chosen to leave me to my fate?

Further interrogation would have to wait, however. There was a man the size of a mountain gorilla looming over us, and that sort of thing tended to get my attention. His sword was easily the size of my leg, and the blood on the blade looked worryingly fresh.

“If the ‘emperor’ and his minion could afford a moment for one of his lowly citizens, we have matters to discuss,” he announced, his voice one of mock servitude.

The tip of the huge blade promptly found its way to my neck.

“First of all, yer late.”

Another barbarian strode forward to join him. This one was surprisingly lanky, a skull adorned bruiser with an abundance of tattoos. He scratched himself incessantly, and his jet-black hair was spiked in every conceivable direction. Given the lack of available resources, I didn’t want to think what he was using to spike it.

“An example must be set,” hissed the spikey one in an incredibly creepy tone. “Punishment must be dispensed.”

The bigger man sheaved his sword and cracked his knuckles. “This is true, otherwise everyone would just follow suit, and we can’t be havin’ that now, can we?”

“Um, you do realize that breaking my arms won’t help my productivity, right?” I interjected, feebly.

“Losin’ 40% of yer HP shouldn’t hamper your efforts too badly, though,” he replied with a smirk, cracking his neck as he spoke. Then he stopped, leaned in toward me, and stared. “Hmm, a slaveowner, eh?”

Oh shit! I hadn’t even stopped to consider how the other prisoners may view my new ‘trait’. Yes, I was now a useful asset to a leader. But how did my potential slaves feel about my new role?

“I see you’re level one,” he continued, leaning back. “New to the role, yeah? So, I’d imagine that yeh probably aren’t aware yet that yeh can defer yer punishment to your minion, should you choose to.”

“I can?” I gasped.

“He can?” added Samusk, his voice now lacking its usual arrogance.

“Sure,” replied the gorilla with a shrug. “Makes no difference to me. If anythin’, beatin’ the shit outta the noob with crap resistance is much more efficient. They bleed easier.”

The lanky barbarian grinned at this thought and began cracking his own heavily tattooed knuckles.

“Great,” I replied with an enthusiastic smile. “Substitution agreed.”

“What?” spluttered Samusk. “Hold on, you’re supposed to be my-”

He stopped himself mid-sentence, powerless to reveal our ‘employment arrangement’ in front of the two strangers.

“Owner, that’s right,” I cut in, smugly. “Relax Samusk, you heard the man, he won’t kill you. He’d only have one less worker if he did, and that’s hardly in his best interests, is it?”

“You orc-fucking bastard…”

“Now, now, there’s no need for talk like that. Obviously, I’d take the beating myself, but what could I possibly gain from that? I’ve already maxed out my resilience stat, at least until I reach the next level in my primary skill. Meanwhile, it’s probably safe to say you haven’t done jack shit to increase yours. Tell me what it is, exactly?”

“Zero,” he spat, rendered powerless to resist by the wording of the question. I was getting the hang of this ‘slaveowner’ trait.

“And I thought dwarves were supposed to have better endurance than humans.” I shook my head. “No, that won’t do at all. Obviously, as your master, I won’t let anyone damage my property without my prior consent. But this dungeon is a dangerous place, and we need to toughen you up. What if you were to, I dunno, trip down a flight of stairs, or something.”

“Bassstard…” he hissed.

“It’s settled. As your master I have a duty to strengthen you. And with that in mind, getting battered down to 20% could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Hell, you might even gain a base point, if you’re lucky.”

“If you want him to gain his first resilience point, we really need to take him to the brink,” added the big one with a smirk.

“Now hold on a minute,” spluttered Samusk.

“Perfect. And I thank you for your advice, if only everyone was so keen to share information around here.”

I stared directly at the dwarf as I spoke the words. The little bugger actually growled at me in return.

“Trust me, Samusk, this is all for the greater good. You know, like a -3 rep penalty. The lads here have to be seen to punish us for our tardiness…”

‘The lads’ nodded in agreement.

“…and besides, allocating you this small task frees me up to get started earning us some coin.” I leaned in, adding with a whisper: “and don’t forget… we’re supposed to be convincing everyone here that I own you. What self-respecting slaveowner takes a beating on behalf of his damn minion. Do you really want me to look soft in front of our potential allies?”

“So help me, I will find a way to develop the assassination skill and murder ye in yer sleep,” muttered the dwarf, his eyes now seething with hatred.

“See? you’re finally motivated to improve yourself. My plan to help you level up your skills is working already. Plus, the resilience boost you’ll hopefully gain from this will make you harder for me to kill if I do have to fend off your murderistic tendencies in the middle of the night.” With that, I turned to the duo. “Um, you do promise that you won’t kill him, right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” replied the lanky, impatient looking barbarian with the tats.

“See, Samusk? How can you be worried? I’d trust these guys with m- eh, your life.”

“Hey Smitty, you’ve installed that basketball net fer the rec area, yeah?” called the big one over his shoulder.

A distant half-orc nodded.

“Fantastic. Clear the rubble from the area and we’ll shoot some hoops.” He looked down at Samusk, his intent worryingly clear, before adding: “I’ve finally found us a ball.”

With that, he grabbed my panicking employer by the throat, carrying him away with the lack of care that a child might afford its doll. The lanky barbarian quickly made to follow.

“Not you,” barked the larger man, putting his accomplice back in his place. “You put the swords-noob to work. He’s missed two hours already.”

As the man-mountain carried Samusk off, I felt a little guilty. But only a little. The dwarf was too soft. In truth, he probably needed this. I told myself that if we could boost his resilience a little, it would ultimately make my job easier, and make things easier for him in the long run, too. It was a no-brainer that he’d be easier to protect if he wasn’t so damned easy to kill. Not only that, but it sent a message that really needed to be communicated, after that rep penalty he stuck me with.

Don’t fuck with me, short stuff. I’m not your damn lap-dog.

Thinking about how he’d played me, any thoughts of guilt quickly evaporated. Why did I have to think of his wellbeing at all, I found myself wondering. He’d freely admitted that he didn’t give a fuck about mine. Yes, there was the money, and I still needed a sword. But now that I had the slaveowner skill, I could easily renegotiate our contract. Hell, if I choose to, I could make him pay to work for me.

The more I thought about it, the more adamant I became. I’d spent too long dicking around already, begging for scraps of information from the miniature manipulator. My mission was my priority, not him. And my development was too serious for me to keep waiting for guidance that was too-often withheld as part of the dwarf’s larger strategy. yes, I would rather have been a friend to my new cell-mate. For us to have worked together, helping each other survive this hellhole. But he’d acted against my interests, tricked me into damning myself further, all to increase his own chances of survival here. That couldn’t be overlooked. IRL I’d have left him in a pool of his own blood, giving thanks for the small amount of breath that I’d left in his permanently broken body. But I couldn’t afford to kick him to the curb, nor did I want to lose the income he afforded me. Not yet.

There and then I made up my mind. Samusk had sealed his own fate, and was now little more than a resource for me to exploit in my quest to kill the Dungeon Warden. Hell, he’d even made it official when he bent the knee. In the meantime, there was no guilt to be taken from my actions. Perhaps a little tough love would teach him to learn his place.

My coldness surprised me. Was the slaveowner trait hardening me, manipulating my thoughts just as my weak charisma manipulated those around me? In truth, I knew that was what I wanted to believe, but little more. A dark side of me was returning: a side that I had hoped had been burned away with my old body.

Ultimately, it was all a matter of perspective. I was either learning to become savvier in how I used my available resources, or I was learning how to be a bigger bastard.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter which. I was going to have to level up both those aspects of my own programming, if I was going to survive.