The dungeon's pulse had changed.
Where once it breathed quiet mana through empty halls, now the walls were warm with use. The goblins moved in rhythmic lines, ferrying crates of mana herbs, armfuls of polished ore, and scrolls copied by trembling hands. The veins of red-and-green light running along the floors pulsed brighter with each passing hour.
Leonhardt walked at a slow pace, observing. No coat. No weapons. Just him and the two newest additions to his retinue.
One walked a step behind, spine stiff, tray held aloft with both hands.
"Master," Griv said for the third time in ten minutes, "should your travels ever grow dull, might I suggest we install musical floor panels? I've memorised three marches already. All tasteful."
Leonhardt gave no reply.
He didn't need to. Griv took it as silent approval.
A step to his left, Snaggle stumbled slightly as he dragged a satchel full of gold-inked ledgers and scrolls.
