After 40 minutes of walking, they had finally arrived, but the mosquito was still replacing Pyroas.
The entrance wasn't even sealed. Just a purple-lit fissure in the ground and a cheap wooden sign that read "Meander of the Damned", like the place was some abandoned house listed for sale.
'Mh. They were too lazy to even add a warning.' Mordecai thought.
Without any further words, they immediately stepped into the dungeon.
Mordecai rubbed his hands mischievously because he was about to have a lot of snacks in there.
As Mordecai, Vera, and the glitching Pyroetta descended into the humid, purple-lit fissure, the very fabric of the world seemed to give up on maintaining a professional standard.
Once inside, our beloved necromancer noticed how bad the design was. It looked like an unfinished level.
This "Meander of the Damned" was literally a geographical insult.
The textures on the stone walls were so stretched they looked like melted taffy. A skeletal rat ran past them, but its AI was so broken it was sprinting upside down on the ceiling while emitting the sound effect of a barking dog. It was a monument to inefficient level design.
They kept walking for a long corridor filled with the beauty of glitches until they arrived at a glowing purple 'portal door' at the end of it.
'Mh... that's probably the real entrance,' he thought.
"Look at that, ladies, this place is gonna be a real jackpot," Mordecai said, a genuine, albeit creepy, smile forming on his lips. "Unregulated, un-harvested, low-density mana. Thousands of minor mobs just sitting there, waiting to be processed."
"It looks like a garbage dump, baka," Pyroetta noted, her voice flat. She was leaning at a 30-degree angle, her brain still trying to process why Mordecai had grabbed the Saintess earlier.
"You see garbage. I see raw materials," Mordecai corrected, stepping over an invisible wall that shouldn't have been there. "We are going to go deeper into this dungeon, and we are going to optimize it. We aren't going to fight. We are going to establish a supply chain."
Actually, she tried to cross her arms, but her hands missed her biceps entirely, and she awkwardly slapped her own ribs.
Mordecai noticed that the mosquito was... malfunctioning.
Her internal software was undergoing a catastrophic reboot. The [Edgelord Rizz, Physical Edition] Mordecai had been forced to perform on Saintess Lucy, who had fundamentally broken Pyroetta's code. Her loyalty module was at war with her Tsundere module.
"I should have incinerated her," Pyroetta muttered to herself, her eyes unfocused, staring blankly at a nearby streetlamp. "But the Boss touched her floating rib. The angle was 45 degrees. Highly efficient grip. Why didn't he grip me like that? No! I don't want to be gripped! Baka! But she enjoyed it. The holy pest enjoyed it. Error 404: Acceptable reaction not found. I must file a grievance with HR. But I am the secretary. I must file a grievance with myself. Baka system..."
A tiny wisp of smoke actually escaped from one of her twin tails. She was caught in an infinite loop of jealousy, denial, and corporate protocol.
Suddenly, a massive, pink notification flared in Mordecai's vision, accompanied by a sound like a malfunctioning arcade machine.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: PYROETTA'S INTERNAL SOFTWARE NEEDS A REBOOT.]
[THE HIGHER REALMS ARE DEMANDING A PHYSICAL TOUCH TO STABILIZE THE ASSET.]
[SUGGESTED ACTION: HEADPAT.]
[COMMENT FROM 'Pyroetta_Lover04': "SHE DESERVES MORE LOVE! YOU SCUMBAG! SHE'S SO CUTE! HUG HER! HOLD HER! TELL HER THAT YOU LOVE HER!"]
Mordecai stopped. He looked at the notification, then at the smoking twin-tails of his secretary. The [Higher Realms] chat was flooded with "MOE! MOE! HEADPAT THE BUG!".
"Unproductive and cringe," Mordecai thought. But if the secretary stayed in that tsundere loop, his inventory logging would be delayed by 40%.
With the same mechanical indifference he would use to flip a circuit breaker, Mordecai reached out and dropped his heavy, gloved hand onto the top of Pyroetta's head. He didn't stroke her hair gently; he patted it three times with a rhythmic, percussive force, as if he were checking whether a structural pillar was secure.
"Rebooting asset," Mordecai muttered. "Return to operational status, Pyroetta. We have work to do."
[SYSTEM STATUS: ASSET REBOOTED. JEALOUSY LEVELS COMPRESSED. TSUN-MODULE REACTIVATED. PYROAS WILL RETURN IN 17:32 MINUTES.]
Pyroetta's eyes snapped back into focus. Her face went from pale to a nuclear shade of red. "B-B-BAKA! DON'T TOUCH MY HEAD WITHOUT A SIGNED CONSENT FORM!" she shrieked, though her twin-tails were now wagging with terrifying, non-canonical speed.
Mordecai completely ignored her and spoke.
"Vera, you will be acting as the heavy lifter. Pyroetta, you're on crowd control and inventory logging."
"Inventory... logging?" Pyroetta repeated, snapping out of her loop just long enough for the horror to dawn on her face. "You mean... paperwork? Inside a dungeon?!"
"Exactly. Welcome to the field office, my dear General," Mordecai said, stepping toward the glowing purple abyss. "Let's go show this dungeon the true meaning of corporate restructuring."
They approached the 'official' entrance and stepped inside.
Then, the horror.
They fell and landed on a big black rock and noticed a real abyss in front of them—a total subterranean world, filled with rivers of purple miasma.
'Dangerous Entrance. Violation of safety regulations, Act 40. I must call Cassandra to file a lawsuit against the idiot who created this level.'
So, Mordecai concluded that the Meander of the Damned (official) was essentially a massive, jagged fissure in the bedrock of the world, leading down into a subterranean network of broken code. As they got closer, the ambient temperature skyrocketed. The purple miasma wasn't just toxic; it was boiling, carrying the suffocating humidity of a subterranean volcanic vent.
It was hot. Unreasonably hot.
And the System, ever the opportunistic parasite, sensed an opening.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ENVIRONMENTAL CONDITIONS MET.]
[TROPE TRIGGERED: 'HOT SPRING / SAUNA EPISODE - DUNGEON VARIANT'.]
[INITIATING FANSERVICE PROTOCOL: COMPANION OVERHEATING.]
Suddenly, Vera stopped walking. The heavy, grey, utterly boring 'trash can' armor she was wearing began to hiss with steam.
"Boss..." Vera panted, her voice suddenly shifting from her usual stoic, draconic rumble to a suspiciously breathless, high-pitched anime whine. "It's... It's too hot in here. My draconic blood is boiling."
Mordecai stopped, turning around slowly. He knew that tone. He had watched enough trash-tier anime in his previous life to know exactly where this was going.
"Vera. Hold your position," Mordecai warned, his eyes narrowing.
"I can't, Boss..." Vera groaned, dramatically wiping a bead of sweat from the only visible part of her neck. "This armor... It's too restrictive. The chest plate is... pressing against my assets. I can't breathe. I need to take it off. Just... just the top half. Maybe the leg guards too... or.. I won't be able to control myself, Boss. The dragon blood is making me... impulsive...."
She reached up, her gauntlets fumbling with the heavy steel clasps of her bucket helmet. The System was practically screaming with joy. The 'Higher Realms' chat, which had been boring since the Guild Hall incident, suddenly spiked with degenerate excitement.
"You're a wyvern, and you literally breathe fire. How can you even feel hot?" Mordecai asked in confusion.
Vera didn't reply. Instead, a ragged breath was her response.
Pyroetta, on the other hand, was looking away.
[HIGHER REALMS CHAT: AWAKENING]
FURRY_DRAGON_LOVER99: "YES! THE ARMOR IS COMING OFF! SHOW US THE SCALES!"
PLOT_ARMOR_ENJOYER: "I KNEW HE BOUGHT THAT UGLY ARMOR JUST FOR THIS STRIP SCENE! GENIUS! LET US SEE THOSE BIG MOMMY DRAGON BOOBIES PLEASE!"
[SYSTEM PROMPT: REWARD OF 5,000 EXP IF THE PROTAGONIST BLUSHES AND LOOKS AWAY.]
Vera unlatched the first buckle of her breastplate. A sliver of pale skin and the promise of ridiculous, gravity-defying draconic proportions threatened to expose itself to the subterranean gloom.
Click.
Mordecai's hand clamped down over Vera's gauntlet with the speed and ferocity of a bear trap.
He didn't blush. He didn't look away. He stared directly into the slit of her bucket helmet with the cold, dead eyes of an OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration) Inspector who had just caught a construction worker without a hard hat on a skyscraper scaffolding.
"Negative, Vera," Mordecai stated, his voice devoid of any emotion, completely shattering the rising romantic tension.
"But Boss... the heat..." Vera whimpered, fighting against the narrative compulsion.
"The heat is a workplace hazard, not an excuse for a uniform violation," Mordecai said, his grip tightening. "Article 4, Section B of the Ravenloft Holdings Workplace Safety Code explicitly states that full Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) must be worn at all times in active hazardous environments. If you remove that breastplate and a rogue slime mold melts your torso, our corporate insurance policy is entirely voided. I will not pay out of pocket for your medical resurrection because you felt 'stuffy'."
Vera blinked behind her visor. The absolute, crushing weight of Mordecai's bureaucratic logic clashed violently against the System's 'Fanservice Protocol'.
[SYSTEM ERROR: FANSERVICE BLOCKED BY OSHA REGULATIONS.]
[HIGHER REALMS CHAT: OUTRAGED]
FURRY_DRAGON_LOVER99: "BOOOOOOOO! CORPORATE SHILL! WE WANT WAIFUS, NOT SAFETY GUIDELINES!"
[SYSTEM ADMIN NOTE: YOU ARE RUINING THE MONETIZATION OF THIS CHAPTER, ALDMAX. LET HER SWEAT.]
"Furthermore," Mordecai continued, ignoring the glaring red notifications filling his vision. He raised his left hand, channeling a tiny fraction of his mana. "If temperature regulation is the issue, we implement a technical solution, not a stripping routine."
He pressed his palm against the top of Vera's bucket helmet and cast a sustained, low-level [Frost] spell, gently offered by the system. A localized ring of icy air bloomed around her head and shoulders, rapidly cooling the steel plate.
"I have essentially turned your helmet into a wearable Air Conditioning unit," Mordecai explained, tapping the steel. "Your thermal parameters are now stable. Keep the bucket on. We have a Chief Scientific Officer to audit."
Vera let out a long, contented sigh as the freezing air rushed down the inside of her armor. The breathless anime-whine vanished from her voice, instantly replaced by her usual, deep draconic tone.
"Understood, Boss. Temperature optimal. Ready for heavy lifting and hostile takeovers," Vera affirmed, stepping forward into the miasma like a walking, frost-covered tank.
Pyroetta, who was still slightly glitching, watched the exchange with a mix of relief and utter confusion. 'He... he denied the dragon's assets in favor of workplace safety? This man... his dedication to the rules is... terrifyingly attractive. BAKA! No, it isn't!' she slapped her own cheeks, leaving soot marks on her face.
Mordecai shook his head. His team was a mess. His secretary was suffering from a logic loop, his heavy-lifter was a victim of trope-based overheating, and he was about to step into the worst-designed dungeon in the history of fantasy literature.
He pulled a fresh clipboard from his spatial storage, clicking a pen with his thumb.
"Alright, ladies. Let's head down," Mordecai ordered, his eyes glowing in the purple dark. "Step carefully. The floor textures here are notoriously buggy, and I am not filling out an incident report if one of you clips through the ground into the abyss."
With the anti-fanservice protocol firmly established, the CEO of Ravenloft Holdings descended into the Meander of the Damned, ready to fire some slimes and re-hire a three-thousand-year-old Alchemist.