I gave myself a full day to chill-out and I didn’t spend any mana. I did think about what I wanted to do with my remaining free time. Two things were at the forefront: use my mana budget to make incremental improvements to the dungeon, and further refine the Holding itself.

  I wanted to gather some more mana before doing any building, so I turned my attention to the Holding.

  Sensing the Holding was a little bit weird at first. I had gotten used to my demesne’s senses, but the Holding made me slightly confused. This was because it wasn’t my primary sense, but acted almost like a secondary sensation. I focused more on the Holding and it became clear in my mind’s eye, then receded again when I relaxed my focus. It really did feel like a shroud over reality that I could access, an overlay in the real world. It also seemed like I was looking at a photograph of the same area–comparing true reality with a snapshot of time.

  I absorbed one of the spiders in the Spider Pot Room. The Holding’s image adjusted to match the change. Right, because the Holding is only fixed when it’s instanced (and that happened when the well became full). Whoops.

  I turned my attention to the features of the Holding.

  Necromancer’s Abattoir 5 had two properties and three components. The system did not tell me if the Abattoir could hold more properties, but I suspected those were definitely fixed. Components, on the other hand, seemed to have much more modularity. Two of the components were given to the Holding by the properties. The third component I had in mind when creating the Holding, but perhaps it wasn’t a core function so didn’t come out as a property. Finally, the Holding had an empty slow for an additional component. I had used two DP in total to make the Holding and the Holding had 2 “free” component slots. Even if I was correct, I wasn’t going to spend my last DP to prove the theory.

  So, free component slot. What do I use it for?

  I knew the logical answer. I had long fretted about the power-levels of the locals. The most recent dungeon-run by the goblins had validated my concerns. They were relatively high-leveled compared to a beginner dungeon, and they were probably not looking to just grind XP. If even higher level delvers came, I would be in deep trouble (again).

  So, the logical answer was to use the component and try to make a level cap for the Holding: “NO ENTRY TO LEVEL 5s AND ABOVE.”

  Since the only way to get to my core (currently) was to go through the Abattoir, that meant I could effectively level cap my entire dungeon. It was a very simple, but extremely powerful protection. In terms of defensive effectiveness, in terms of cost-basis, It was the logical option.

  There was another option. It was a little more crazy, but if it worked, the long-term benefits could make it worth it.

  I needed knowledge about this world, but I couldn’t understand what the goblins were talking about. I probably couldn’t understand what anyone would talk about–no one spoke English in the world. And my system, my Interface was very clearly in the English language.

  My logical thought process on the matter went something like this: I knew English; the system provided my output in my language; the system interacted with other sapients through sigils; the other sapients spoke their own language; the system must interface with these other sapients through their own languages too.

  The rabbit hole on magic systems and languages went deep, really deep. Now, in most fantasy stories, this very philosophical problem was usually handwaved away: “everyone in the world speaks English because of magic;” “I have a ‘Universal Translation’ skill; “They system says what this thing is called.”

  All I had was Interface.

  No–no, that wasn’t true. I had another language component too, the system’s language–sigils.

  I focused on another spider. I narrow my focus and zoomed in as much as I could, bringing the spider’s little sigil array fully in my mind’s eye with laser focus. I then opened the status screen for the same spider, which only said its name. But I looked hard to see the connection between the two.

  I couldn’t see anything but I didn’t give up. Instead, I made another status screen and connected it both to the spider and its status screen, willing it to show me the connection between the two.

  A second status screen popped up. It looked like an LCD television screen that had been hit with a flying object, becoming a hodgepodge of a million pixels across the color spectrum.

  I re-centered my focus and did the exercise again. This time I focused on connecting the sigil array only to the word ‘wandering’ in the status screen. Another new status screen popped up, but it was empty. Repeating the act with the words ‘Spider’ and ‘(poison)’ yielded the same result.

  I wiped the screens away. I changed my focus to a skeleton fighter. This time, I connected the status screen to the sigil array and got the same colorful mess. When I attached the word ‘fighter’ to the sigil array, I got nothing again. But I went further; I tried making a new screen connected to one of the skills and the sigil array. It didn’t work either. I tried one more time: I made a new screen that was connected to the skill name on one side and the sigil in the same location in the sigil array. Success–another broken LCD screen!

  In each instance, the broken LCD screens looked very different.

  I went and checked all of the skills of the Skeleton Warrior of Light. The Bone Bash skill gave the exact same LCD screen as the Bone Bash skill of the Skeleton Fighter. The other three skills, however, gave radically different versions.

  Another test.

  I reset everything and went back to the spider, bringing its sigil into my vision. Now, I created a new status screen with a connection to the sigil, and a second connection to my own core. The status screen popped up.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  . . .

  I laughed.

  I had just reinvented the wheel.

  But, I think I understood what was going on. A chain-smoking French philosopher who always saw lobsters chasing him once won a Nobel Prize for the amazing epiphany of “You see that tree over there that you call a ‘tree?’ It’s not a ‘tree,’ it just is.”

  The system wasn’t translating from one language to another. Sigils were not a language; they were magic. It seemed that, when Interface denoted something with an English descriptor, it borrowed from my understanding of my language to give the best approximation in English words. The system itself was language agnostic.

  I can’t pull the Goblins’ language from the system because the system doesn’t know it.

  To make this work, I had to rely on the Holding and Interface.

  In my core room, I made a simple box of stone that sat on the floor. I attached one Interface status screen as the output. Then I took another screen and manipulated it so that it was stuck to and wrapped around the stone box’s surface. I willed the status screen to capture sound and translate it into English text.

  Then I made some rocks on the ceiling and dropped them.

  I checked the output box. Nothing.

  Hm. I needed something to properly capture sound. I had the answer–bats!

  They live in caves so I definitely have access to them. Of course, the problem was that any delver worth their salt would immediately kill any bats hanging from the ceiling. Well, any prudent delver would kill a creature that may or may not be a monster, or is harvestable, or just to be careful. With Dark Goblins, maybe I could get away with it.

  Ah, but dammit. I had no creature slots left.

  I had one plant slot.

  Previously, I had been able to push the limits of the system’s biome designation with some creativity, but that was because my ideas were based on at least some plausibility. A plant that grew in a cave that could hear sound?--that just seemed ridiculous.

  Ridiculous like a fox.

  Monsters, animals, and plants were fundamentally a composite of two things (for me): their physical manifestation and their magical manifestation–their sigils. I had always thought that the flora and fauna had to be something that actually existed in the biome, but that may not be true. Maybe only one of the two needed to be cave related. The magical part could be appended onto a basic qualifying creature or plant.

  I focused on the empty plant slot and willed the formation of a cave plant, but held the thought so the system didn’t complete it. Then I made a notation screen and wrote my desired magical effect out in text. Then I dragged the notation screen and attached it directly into the empty slot where my idea was being held.

  I made a final push and let my latest creation set into its slot.

  My invention notched me two awards–Sigilmancy and Cave Flora both gained a level. I wondered why Sigilmancy got a boost but Interface did not. I didn’t have an answer, but maybe this was a sign I should pay more attention to the former. For now, though, I checked the Monstruary to see the result. The new plant was named “Aural Nettle.”

  I went back to the stone box and wiped it clean. Then, I made some of my new plant and covered the box with it. Finally, I made a text screen like before and attached it to the Aural Nettle.

  I ran the stone-drop test.

  I was expecting more “thud” “thud” “thud,” but, still, it was a success!

  Now, it was time for implementation.

  I went to the lobby and created a small shelf–molding–near the ceiling on all four walls. I then added a mixture of the nettle and moss all along the molding. The moss would provide a little light and color, while the nettle hung down from the edge of the molding and could pick up the sounds of the room.

  I did the same in the hallways as well as the Spider Pot Room and the Dart Trap Room.

  I opened up the Holding management screen and made a new black document page. I then took the document page and made it connect to the empty component slot in the Holding. I held that connection in the back of my mind and turned my main attention to the nettle in the dungeon. When laying the nettle, I had tried to make as few discrete plants as possible, so now I started making new connections between the plants and connected them to the same component slot.

  Next, I created five more empty status screens. Then, I squeezed, twisted, and stretched each of them until they were shaped like long noodles. I attached one of the ends of each noodle to the component slot, but left the other ends free.

  With all the parts made, I focused on making the component itself. I wanted it to take what the Aural Nettle heard being said by the delvers and convert it into English in the output box. Then I tasked the five tendrils with seeking out and connecting directly to the delver’s own interfaces. At first it felt like I had gotten it to work, but after a moment I felt an incredible resistance. The pushback was extremely strong and I knew I did a no-no. Fearing worse, I immediately let it all go.

  I realized that the system might not like that I was touching on some of its internal mechanics. Pissing off the system seemed like a bad idea, especially more than once.

  On the other hand, I really, really needed this.

  I hoped I didn’t regret what I was about to do.

  I restarted the process and repeated everything. However, before getting to that last bit, I went over and pulled a glob of inky black metaphysical tar out of the portal and slopped it onto one of the tether’s open ends. The goopy magic tar adhered easily to the end. Then I pulled the tar through the inside of the tether to the other end. I repeated this with the four other ones.

  When I went to push the component towards completion, again I felt resistance. However, this time it was much weaker and I pushed through. The component was created.

  I went and read the description of the new component.

  AWESOME!!

  I was ecstatic! I wanted to jump for joy! Wait–I could jump for joy with just a little mana . . .

  . . . ah, right. I wasn't in the moss room anymore.

  Oh yes, when I finally get my companion, we are so going to celebrate.