A Dungeon Tycoon’s Guide to Undead Capitalism

Karl sat in his private office on the seventh floor, the heavy silence broken only by the faint noise of the industrial activity outside. Leo stood opposite him, posture erect, ready to summarize the initial intelligence haul gathered by the agents embedded within the Rogina Merchant Company caravans.

"Start with the big picture, Leo," Karl commanded, glancing up from a sheet detailing commodity prices. "Are the racial tensions our customers exhibit on the outside as volatile as the rumors claim, or is it merely posturing?"

Leo tapped the top paper, his voice perfectly modulated and precise. "Surface observation is misleading, My Lord. Our agents report that in key trade hubs like Stonehorn Crossing and Hearthglen, common folk coexist normally. They must—trade demands it. But beneath that cooperation, the regional fault lines are cracking faster than expected."

"Give me specifics on the fissures. Where is the most concentrated hatred?"

"It's highly compartmentalized by geography and traditionalism," Leo responded, moving past the general overview. "In the outlying Kobold territories, particularly the villages near the Dark Forest and border walls, the traditionalists and nationalists are actively spreading contempt. Their primary targets are the Foxkins, who they view as the primary suspect for the disorder in the region, followed by the Ramaris, who they view as greedy."

"And the Lupens?" Karl asked, already anticipating the answer.

"The Lupens remain consistent, My Lord. They are fiercely nationalistic. Their ideology holds that only the Lupens and their rival, the Ursaroks, deserve power. They treat almost every other race—including some of their supposed Alliance partners—with varying degrees of arrogance and dismissal."

Karl leaned back, linking his skeletal fingers. "Then I ask the logical question: If the hatred is so widespread, why is our mall operating smoothly? Why are these bitter rivals standing next to each other in line for a burger without starting a race riot?"

"Two factors, My Lord," Leo said, nodding at the pragmatism of the query. "First, demographics: our primary customer base comes from the poorer, more marginalized villages near the poverty line, or from the mixed, liberal towns. For them, Necro Corp affordability overrides generations of prejudice. Hunger is a more pressing enemy than a Ramari neighbor."

"And the second factor?"

"The Fear Factor, My Lord. No one wants to risk starting a brawl in a location run entirely by the undead. They might hate the Foxkin next to them, but they fear the Ghoul clerk more."

Karl smirked faintly. "Good. Fear and economics—the two great equalizers." He then pivoted. "What do we know about the Foxkin territory? They are the most secretive and the only faction showing signs of real magical innovation."

Leo's expression tightened slightly. "Very little, My Lord. Our agents can't penetrate their borders effectively. The Foxkin have exceptionally strict rules regarding non-Foxkin travel, especially toward their technological centers. The risk-to-reward ratio for a ground infiltration is currently unacceptable. We are yet to uncover the depth of their magical capabilities."

"Unacceptable risk, indeed," Karl muttered, tapping the desk rhythmically. "This is a problem that must be solved by engineering, not infantry. Accelerate the R&D on the mana communication suite and the mana sniffer project. Where do the researchers stand?"

"They are halfway there," Leo confirmed. "They have successfully figured out how mana stores data and have mapped out the basic mana frequency bands used for encrypted communication. The breakthrough is finding the channel; the problem is accessing it without a trace."

Leo paused for dramatic emphasis. "Currently, any attempt to capture and sniff the mana noise causes a significant power fluctuation—a disruption obvious enough for anyone with even basic magical expertise to detect immediately. It's like turning on a mining light in a dark room."

Karl waved his hand dismissively. "That's an amateur approach. They need to stop thinking about a magical solution and think about a computer science one." He leaned forward, his voice taking on the excited pitch of an architect designing an exploit. "Tell them to scour my memories on related to hacking, malware injection, and network reconnaissance."

"Instead of hijacking the channel with a large burst of disruptive mana, you treat it like a malware injection. You don't need a large output; you just plant a tiny, silent program—a DLL of sorts—that slowly establishes an encrypted, low-noise connection. If you only capture a trickle of data, the noise blends in with the rest. The key is persistence, not power. Get that to the research team."

Leo absorbed the instruction without question. "It will be done, My Lord."

"Finally, let's close the loop on our resident jealous merchant," Karl said, referring to the man who hired the bandits to attack the dungeon entrance weeks ago. "Who was responsible for the raid?"

"Alright, let's wrap up the messy business," Karl said, his focus shifting. "Who hired the bandits to attack the dungeon entrance?"

"We have a direct confession, My Lord," Leo stated, giving the new Ghoul, Garruk, a brief, silent nod of thanks. "The commissioner was Haran of House Drexil, a Stonehorn merchant tied to the Ramari Merchant House. He paid Garruk to cripple the Rogina Merchant Company's trade and eliminate us as a competitor."

"And the fallout?"

"The Black Poison Bandits chapter dissolved after their spectacular failure. Total asset loss," Leo confirmed. "As for Haran himself, he's officially 'missing.' His merchant company was immediately taken over by his younger brother, Harun."

Karl finished the thought with a grim finality. "He didn't just go missing, Leo. He's a scapegoat. A convenient corporate sacrifice."

"Unfortunately, yes," Leo agreed. "It appears the Ramari Merchant House sees our price dumping as a severe threat, but they chose to sacrifice a minor player rather than confront us directly."

Karl sighed, a dry, rattling sound. "This goes into a deeper rabbit hole than a single disgruntled merchant. We are drawing the gaze of the high noble families. Keep a close watch on Harun. Dismissed, Leo."

Leo bowed sharply and retreated, leaving Karl to consider the intricate web of economic jealousy and political tension he was now weaving himself into.

The intelligence briefing is complete, providing a clear map of the region's racial/political tensions and setting up the next phase of Karl's technological research.

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The forest was choked with fog, reducing visibility to mere meters. The heavy, rhythmic sound of hoofbeats, accompanied by the clang of steel and the ragged breathing of armored Wolf-Beasts, cut through the eerie silence. Thirty-seven Lupen knights, clad in dark steel marked with the purple insignia of the Moon and Hammer, rode along, escorting a luxurious carriage.

Riding near the reinforced carriage window was Joral, the Knight Captain, his expression grim beneath his helm. Inside, Lord An'lil, a massive Lupen dressed in an ornate white noble uniform with deep purple stripes and a sweeping cape, motioned for Joral to lean closer.

"Joral, how much farther are we to the gate?" An'lil's voice was a deep baritone, carrying an ingrained note of impatience.

"We're almost there, Lord An'lil," Joral reported, his helmeted head dipping slightly. "We should see the illusion wards within the hour."

An'lil's eyes, bright gold slits, narrowed in irritation. "Hmmm. Then prepare your men. Although these inferior Foxes are weak in true combat, they are far more sly and cunning than we are. If they attempt anything funny, anything at all that breaches protocol, do not hesitate to show them the full strength of Lord Fenrir's chosen. I do not wish to be inside their territory a moment longer than I have to be."

Joral gave a quick, sharp nod. "Understood, My Lord. I will double the vanguard and ensure the flanks are secure." He straightened and subtly issued a hand signal to the nearest lieutenant, who immediately began adjusting the convoy's formation.

Inside the carriage, seated opposite An'lil, was another noble, Lord Johan, distinguished by his red-striped uniform and a more nervous energy.

"What do you think these Foxes are trying to show us, Lord An'lil?" Johan asked, crossing his arms. "They simply said it was an opportunity to 'settle the grudges' that would require your personal attention. A settlement? From them?"

An'lil scoffed, running a claw along the embroidered purple crest on his sleeve. "I don't know much, but it must be an act of desperation. These Foxes are usually secretive about their magical development, clinging to their precious magic devices and illusion magic. If not for that, they would have been eliminated a long time ago. They are a pest, that needs to be dealt with."

"They certainly know how to manage their assets, though," Johan muttered, almost to himself. "They control the flow of all minor magical items in the Spinebride region."

"Hmph," An'lil snorted. "That may be true, but we can sense their stinky, unwashed smell from a mile away. It's one of the reasons they always try to bootlick their way into our favor. If not for those do-goody, overly self-righteous Ursaroks putting 'order' in the region, we Lupens would have ruled the entire Spinebride centuries ago. All of this glory and honor is for Lord God Fenrir."

Johan bowed his head religiously. "May he bless us with his moonlight and grant us victory."

An'lil followed suit before changing the subject, his tone shifting back to military logistics. "What is the status of your men, Lord Johan? I expected seven chapters ready for the first phase."

Johan's face clouded slightly. "It should be seven, My Lord. But only six chapters are ready. The Fifth Chapter, stationed in Stonehorn Crossing, was disbanded."

"Six? Disbanded? What happened to Garruk's lot?" An'lil asked, genuinely confused. "He was one of Joral's former knight applicants, wasn't he? Failed because he was a reckless liability."

"Precisely. They never returned after a commission from the Ramari Merchant House Drexil," Johan explained.

An'lil mused aloud. "Garruk… a fool, but not a coward. It wouldn't surprise me if he simply ran away with the Ramari's money and disbanded his men. He was never one for following orders."

"That was my first thought as well," Johan countered, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't just let this one go. I've dug into the rumors and learned that the commission involved eliminating a new competitor made of the undead."

An'lil's posture stiffened. He fell silent for a long moment, the only sound the rattling of the carriage wheels. "That… is an unknown variable. We know nothing of the undead's true combat capabilities. The latest rumor that reached the high council—the Orcs slaughtering at the Necro Market border—the Alliance was already at unrest. They question why the Orcs were venturing so deep into the region when they should have been contained at the Wall."

An'lil smirked, a flash of predatory amusement. "But the real question everyone whispers is: how did the undead butcher dozens of demonic Orcs? One demonic Orc is already troublesome. An entire raiding group? No. That's not possible."

Johan swallowed hard. "Then is it truly possible that half of my entire Black Poison Bandits are dead?"

"Perhaps," An'lil allowed. "It's too early to know the full truth. But one thing I learned from my father is that you don't mess around with things you know little about. If it's true, then these undead are already much more sly and sinister than the Foxes. They are building a friendly reputation and, apparently, with every death, their force only increases. It is already a surprise that they haven't conquered the entire region yet and chose to be… 'benevolent.'"

Johan looked genuinely alarmed. "Then, the legends and stories about their power didn't do them justice."

An'lil's golden eyes gazed out the small, fog-streaked window, his tone deadly serious. "If those stories turn out to be true history, then there's no Demon King Mizzlajo to save us. If that happens, I want to be on the winning side."

Johan was slightly surprised by the admission of strategic pragmatism over faith. "Are you then planning to visit them soon?"

An'lil smiled, a thin, chilling expression. "Who knows? Like I said, it's too early to tell. But what we can learn about this is that it's always better to have more options than to have none. For now, let's see what these foxes are trying to pull off."

The convoy continued its slow, measured descent into the foggy heart of Foxkin territory.

The scene successfully establishes the major political players in the region—the arrogant Lupens, the cunning Foxkins, and the powerful, neutral threat of Karl's Necro Corp.