The Lost Minion Found

Grashok awoke with a sense of serenity, a rare occurrence in his chaotic life. The warmth and tangle of limbs around him reminded him of the events of the night before. Snippa, Nyxie, and Sylrith were nestled against him, their rhythmic breathing a soothing lullaby. He allowed himself a moment to bask in the comfort, savouring the unusual peace that had settled over his dungeon.

The quiet was broken by a sharp chime. Notifications appeared in his vision, and he instinctively opened them.

Fame Increased!

Fame: +16,294

Rumours of your power and protection are spreading +14734

Got a minion! +1,148 (Expanded)

• Got a minion! +574 x 2

You are being noticed! +103 x 4

Grashok saw the expected increase in fame following the battle, although the quantity surprised him, “this will be useful he thought”. But then as he continued scrolling down he sat bolt upright, his exclamation shattering the calm. “What the hell, how many babies do goblins have?" he roared, startling the three women awake. They blinked groggily at him as he scrambled out of the bed, pacing the room with increasing agitation.

Snippa rubbed her eyes and frowned, clearly uncomprehending. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

Grashok pointed an accusatory finger at her. “This is your doing, isn’t it? Or…” He gestured wildly at the others. “How do goblins multiply this fast? Do they sprout from the ground now? How can we have over five hundred new goblin babies?”

Snippa blinked at him, utterly baffled, while Sylrith tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. Nyxie simply pulled the blanket over her head, muttering something unintelligible.

“How will we feed them all?” Grashok bemoaned, his voice rising with each word. “Who will care for them? How will this affect our labour force? Workers, warriors, resources! This is a logistical nightmare!”

A sharp knock at the door interrupted his tirade. He turned abruptly, barking, “Come in!” The door creaked open to reveal a nervous goblin, shifting uncomfortably as it stepped into the room.

“How many darn goblins have given birth overnight?” Grashok demanded, his glare fixed on the unfortunate messenger.

The goblin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. “S-sorry, Big Boss?” it stammered.

Grashok’s eyes narrowed. “I said,” he growled, “how many goblins have given birth overnight?”

The goblin stared at him, confusion plastered across its face. “Uh…”

Snippa sighed and sat up, pulling a tunic over herself as she took charge of the situation. “What did you come here to tell us?” she asked, her tone far gentler than Grashok’s.

The goblin’s shoulders sagged with relief at her intervention. “Elder said come,” it mumbled. “We have trouble.”

“Trouble?” Grashok’s brow furrowed. “What kind of trouble? Goblin babies everywhere? A famine? A revolt?” He waved his arms in frustration. “What now?”

The goblin’s eyes widened, clearly overwhelmed. “N-no, Big Boss,” it stuttered. “To the mana pool.”

Grashok froze. The room fell silent as the significance of the words sunk in. Whatever awaited them at the mana pool, it was bound to be important—and potentially dangerous. He glanced back at Snippa, Sylrith, and Nyxie, who were already rising, their expressions growing serious.

“Let’s go,” Grashok said grimly, his earlier frustration temporarily forgotten. He strode towards the door, his mind already racing with possibilities as to what trouble could have arisen now.

Grashok strode through the dungeon halls, the sound of his heavy boots echoing off the stone walls. The three women trailed behind him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern. Ahead, the entrance to the mana pool chamber loomed, the stone archway carved with intricate runes that faintly glowed with the ambient magic of the dungeon.

Inside, the mana pool room was a marvel of natural beauty and careful construction. The cavern was vast, its ceiling arching high above like a cathedral of stone. Bioluminescent fungi clung to the walls, casting a soft, bluish light that reflected off the rippling surface of the pool. The mana pool itself was circular, its waters unnaturally still and shimmering with an iridescent glow that shifted between shades of green, blue, and violet. Thin strands of magical energy occasionally arced from the surface, dancing in the air before dissipating. The pool was bordered by smooth, polished stones, carefully placed to form a low wall that kept the water contained.

Around the room, stalagmites rose like silent sentinels, their surfaces glittering with crystal deposits. The air was thick with the tang of raw magic, a palpable energy that made the hairs on Grashok’s arms stand on end. At the far side of the pool, a group of goblins stood in a huddle, their voices hushed but urgent. The Elder was at the centre of the group, his wizened face creased with worry as he gestured emphatically.

Grashok approached, his presence immediately commanding the attention of the gathered goblins. The Elder looked up and straightened, his expression sombre.

“Big Boss,” the Elder began, his voice grave. “We have a problem.”

Grashok’s gaze swept the room, taking in the pool and the goblins’ anxious faces. “What problem? Everything looks fine.”

The Elder bent down, picking up a loose stone from the edge of the pool. Without a word, he tossed it into the water. The effect was immediate. The once-still surface of the mana pool churned violently, frothing and bubbling as if something beneath had been disturbed. Then, from the depths, small, jellyfish-like creatures began to rise.

The Spindle Spawn were otherworldly in their appearance. Their translucent bodies glowed faintly with a soft, bioluminescent green, casting eerie reflections on the cavern walls. Their central sacs pulsed rhythmically, while thin, whip-like tendrils trailed beneath them, shimmering with a metallic sheen. They moved gracefully through the water, their movements almost hypnotic. Yet, the sight of them filled Grashok with unease.

“They’re multiplying,” the Elder said, his voice low. “Ever since the first one appeared and disappeared into the depths, these have been spawning. At first, they were harmless, feeding on the pool’s magic. But now…” He trailed off, his expression darkening.

Grashok stepped closer to the pool, his eyes narrowing as he studied the creatures. “And now?” he prompted.

“Some of them are ready to evolve,” the Elder said grimly. “It can become something far more dangerous.”

A notification popped up in Grashok’s vision, confirming the Elder’s words. He scanned the information, his frown deepening as he read about the creatures’ next stage: the Brine Crawlers.

He tapped the prompt to inspect the details further. The Brine Crawlers were a stark contrast to the delicate Spindle Spawn. These creatures would grow to roughly the size of large crabs, their gelatinous cores hardening into protective shells. Their tentacles, once harmless and whip-like, would thicken and extend, their paralytic toxin becoming potent enough to immobilise small mammals. They would also develop primitive eyes, black and glassy, giving them a predatory edge. Worst of all, they would become aggressive hunters, capable of attacking anything that came too close to their domain.

Grashok sighed heavily. “So, what do we do?”

The Elder’s gaze was steady. “You’re the Dungeon Boss. You decide whether to let them evolve or cull them now. But if you choose to let them grow, we’ll need to take precautions. Once they change, they may start treating this pool as their territory — and that instinct will only strengthen as they evolve into their later forms. We should be safe, but it’s wiser not to test their boundaries. The other creatures will need a new water source, well away from anything the Crawlers might claim.”

Grashok looked back at the pool. The Spindle Spawn were drifting serenely, seemingly unaware of the tension their presence had caused. He hesitated for a moment, then made his decision. Tapping the ‘accept’ option on the notification, he authorised the evolution of those ready to ascend.

The transformation was immediate. The selected Spindle Spawn shivered violently, their translucent bodies glowing brighter as their forms began to change. Their gelatinous sacs hardened, taking on a glossy, shell-like appearance. Their tentacles thickened and lengthened, glowing with veins of blue mana. Primitive eyes emerged atop their cores, glinting like dark jewels. The newly evolved Brine Crawlers settled at the bottom of the pool, their movements slower but deliberate.

Grashok turned away from the pool, his jaw set. “We’ll need more water sources, that we can drink from” he said, addressing the Elder. “Two more wells". He opened his construction menu and added both the wells to the construction list and placed them at the highest priority, this would ensure that the golems would commence building them as quickly as possible.

The Elder nodded, relief evident in his expression. “As you command, Big Boss.”

Grashok glanced at the three women standing behind him. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to unease, but none of them questioned his decision. With a final look at the shimmering pool, now home to both Spindle Spawn and Brine Crawlers, he turned and strode out of the chamber.

“We’ll manage this,” he muttered to himself. “We have to.”