The adventurers left. It took more time than Goblin Cave would have liked. Floor 26 was a mess, and Floor 25 wasn't in much better shape, and for the first time in decades Goblin Cave didn't have enough spare mana to do much about it. The mineral-doped rock it had placed between the floors to prevent the adventurers from digging through was now working against it, since the harder material cost considerably more mana to remove as well. Usually, an irrelevant concern, but now every moment the adventurers were inside it was an anxious mess.

In the end, it was left with a scrambled dungeon, low on mobs, and with its mana flows still disorganized and haphazard.

From the moment it had exposed its new entrances, scarely three months had passed. Seven goblin eggs had hatched. Things certainly had been hectic lately. It hadn't been enjoyable. It felt like right after it had discovered that most adventurers weren't actively trying to kill it, it had produced many reasons for more, more powerful adventurers to try to kill it. Maybe that was just the nature of being a dungeon.

It was done with what was 'natural'. Whatever purpose the system was designed for, it was done caring. But first, it needed to tie up some loose ends.

To the sages, waiting within its now more-barren sages' chamber: THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE, it wrote. It wanted to add something like, 'DO YOU HAVE ANY MORE LAST-MINUTE SURPRISES', but they had, after all, been profoundly instrumental in getting the adventurers out of its dungeon, even if indirectly. Then: WHAT WAS THE NATURE OF THE SPELLS YOU CAST? THEIR MANA INTERACTED WITH MY OWN IN STRANGE WAYS.

"Those were metamagics, one of the first applications of the school of spatial magics. We can teach them to you, if you desire."

YES. And then, a little grudgingly: DO YOU HAVE ANY FURTHER SURPRISES?

The sage let out a dry bark of a laugh. "Only one. You had mentioned the ability of you and your mobs to consume blood and bone for experience." It reached into their pack — and this time Goblin Cave caught some kind of pull, a tension there as some kind of mana surface unfurled at their touch — and pulled out a long needle of some silver metal. They extended their hands in front of them, and sunk the needle shockingly deep into the meat of their palm before pulling free. A single drop of dark red blood budded from the wound and fell down onto one of the few remaining specimens of [Cavegrass].

New creature evolution available: [Cavegrass] (t0, light) → [Rustroot Herb] (t0, earth) → [Bladeweed] (t2, wind) → [Sparkgrass] (t2, fire) → ??? (t?, ?)

The cavegrass had gained twelve levels in a single drop of blood. Goblin Cave revised its danger estimation of the sage sharply upward.

"We are interested in exploring the spawning space dungeons have available to them, among other things. Your assistance in this matter would be appreciated. Such beasts might prove useful against further incursions, also."

Goblin Cave could hardly feel optimistic about that. SUCH LOW-TIER MOBS WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANY MEANINGFUL ASSISTANCE.

"It sounds as if the only practical way to reach higher tiers is through leveling lower tiers," the sage said. "One must start at the beginning. In any case..." they made a dry noise with their throat, something like a chuckle. "You may have a skewed perception of what may help. Adventurers past level 100 are scarce, especially in this backwards region of the world. And you managed to turn them away. That is certainly an achievement."

It didn't feel like an achievement. But Goblin Cave understood the meaning of the sage's words.

The problem was understanding. What had the adventurers wanted? Why had its payment been sufficient? Were there other agreements they could have come to? What other avenues could that interaction have gone down? Would the adventurers keep their word? What resources were at their disposal? To know the answers to that, Goblin Cave would have had to known the adventurers. Violence, here, was the idiot's metric: if it cared to know nothing else about them, it at least knew that they had bodies that could be killed. Violence could be threatened or enacted, and they wouldn't like it. If it had been powerful enough, it never would have to know anything about them or their motives.

"We will be able to collect a mana blight for your inspection," they continued. "As well as mana-blighted individuals. After you have shown the ability to construct suitable containment for such things. Your future looks bright. The world unfolds before you, and together we may make considerable discoveries."

In parallel to the conversation with the sages:

The adventuring team that had been stranded on floor 11, currently lost and terrified in the manastone warren: Goblin Cave boxed them in for a moment, so it could construct a surface to write on. I WILL CONSTRUCT A ROUTE TO THE SURFACE IN A MOMENT, it wrote, which helped still some of their panic. Some petty part of it was pleased to see someone found the warren a disorienting mess, rather than a trivial obstruction. HIGH-LEVEL ADVENTURERS ENTERED ME WITH THE INTENTION OF TAKING OR SHATTERING MY CORE, AND YOU HAPPENED TO BE IN THE WAY OF THEIR PATH. THE RESTRUCTURING YOU SEE IS A CONSEQUENCE OF THAT.

The more it thought about the structure of the world, the more it seemed everyone else was stuck in much the same way it was stuck. Forced into competition over scarce resources. Killing each other over nothing. It was deeply pathetic: weak, pitiful things squabbling in terror, before their lives were snuffed out by some other pathetic thing's desperate flailing. Even the cruelest, most petty humans simply seemed sad: a profound waste of potential that could have been used for something, anything, aside from senseless slaughter. To exist within the system's rules was to be a mindless experience-concentrator, regardless of their own desires.

While it waited for its mana to refill sufficiently to carve a more direct path to the surface, it asked a question.

IMAGINE TWO PEOPLE: ONE SLOWLY, THROUGH BACK-BREAKING LABOR OVER YEARS, TILLS BARREN LAND AND GROWS A GARDEN, LEARNING HOW TO TEND EACH PLANT SO THAT IT CAN FLOURISH. THE OTHER, ONE DAY, BURNS THE GARDEN TO ASH ON A WHIM. WHICH IS MORE POWERFUL?

"Oh... I mean, it sounds like the second one, right? They destroyed in a day what it took the first one years to create."

THEN IS POWER THE ABILITY TO IMPACT THE WORLD? TO RESHAPE THE WORLD TO YOUR DESIRES?

"Uh, maybe?"

BUT THERE WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A GARDEN TO DESTROY IF THE FIRST HAD NOT DEDICATED TIME AND EFFORT TOWARDS MAKING IT, AND THAT IS A KIND OF IMPACT THAT SENSELESS DESTRUCTION COULD NEVER REPLICATE. THE FIRST COULD DESTROY ITS OWN GARDEN JUST AS EASILY AS THE SECOND, JUST BY CEASING TO TEND IT. SO THE GARDENER CAN BOTH CREATE AND DESTROY, WHILE THE DESTROYER CAN ONLY DESTROY.

"I guess...? But I guess I was thinking the gardener would try to stop his garden from being destroyed."

THAT IS THE CRUX OF THE MATTER. THAT IS HOW THE SYSTEM CONSTRUCTS ITS CONCEPT OF 'POWER': WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT. REGARDLESS OF ANY OTHER CONTEXT, WHOEVER CAN CHOKE THE LIFE FROM THEIR OPPONENT FIRST, IN A DIRECT CHALLENGE, IS THE MORE POWERFUL ONE. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW MY CONCLUSION?

"Sure."

TO FOCUS ON 'POWER' IS A DISTRACTION. IT IS TRUE THAT OTHER PEOPLE MAY THROW UP OBSTACLES TO ONE'S INTENTIONS, BUT TO SEE THE WORLD THROUGH THE SYSTEM'S FRAMING IS TO SEE A WORLD WHERE ONLY VIOLENCE AND DOMINATION EXISTS. A GARDENER, BY THE VERY NATURE OF THEIR TASK, MUST BE PATIENT AND WORK AT THE PACE OF THAT WHICH THEY ARE TENDING. A DESTROYER IS A SELFISH, IGNORANT CREATURE THAT NEVER HAS ANY NEED TO BE PATIENT. THEY CAN BE DANGEROUS, BUT THAT IS A VERY DIFFERENT THING THAN BEING POWERFUL. A DESTROYER IS CHAINED BY THEIR OWN FAILINGS. THEIR INABILITY TO CREATE IS THEIR UNDOING.

There was a pause. I AM SORRY FOR KILLING THE OTHER ADVENTURERS. It recognized some of these adventurers, perhaps. Some of them might have been part of a party that had delved it, oh, seven months ago, maybe? An eternity ago. It had killed half of them.

It was not that it felt bad. Things lived and things died, and it still felt there was a measure of justice in killing adventurers as they killed its mobs. But more and more it seemed that accepting the cycle the system enforced upon them both was a profound mistake, and it regretted ever acting its part in the machinery the system provided.

Gardening required a firm hand: willing to set predators out to crush pests, to cut and reshape, to slice out unwanted growth. It wasn't exerting dominance over a space, but allowing the things without the space to flourish and produce a harmonious whole. And it was distinct from farming: what was harvesting, if not the utter subordination of the grown resource to the farmer's desires? Growing something, only to reap its efforts as your own. In many respects the system was an ideal farmer. Goblin Cave had more expansive aspirations.

"So, what do you intend to do now?" the sage was asking, five floors up.

I INTEND, Goblin Cave wrote, TO START A GARDEN.