The days wore on. It had gone quiet again, with few travellers along the road. Autumn was now here once again, changing the colour of everything around. The weather was turned, with few clear days. Storms were coming from the mountains and crossing to the plains. The leaves fell off the trees, but a few evergreens held firm. I anticipated the quiet period, a time to reflect and prepare for what was to come.

  I had a bird's-eye view of the Dungeon and an expansive view of the area. Thanks to the loss of the leaves, I could see a little more again. The few travellers along the road were bundled up more to protect themselves from the weather. Their numbers were dropping as the weather got worse.

  As the days passed, I found myself eagerly anticipating what the future might bring. I did not expect any more visitors this year, but who knew what the next year might hold?

  As the days passed, I grew weary, awaiting the next change in weather. The rain transformed into sleet and then snow, gradually covering the land. With the arrival of the snow, my Hunters ceased emerging from their lairs, and I found myself spending most of my time observing the world as time slipped by. A serene white blanket enveloped everything and little else occurred.

  Due to my spatial folding, rain and snow had strange interactions with my bubble. Their normal fall was disrupted and scattered. Snow was the best example, as when it fell, it appeared that my Dungeon was in a giant snow globe being shaken. This made looking out at such times difficult, to say the least.

  I had spent little time in the church as I had things to account for. I now knew the number of guns and pistols I had in storage. I had quite a collection of Colt pistols, both the 1860 and newer Model 3 versions. I had them lined up in the room to the right of the altar. I had learned to clean them and remove all the ammunition. It is all stored in several boxes in the same room. I was less interested in the rifles and muskets. I had an assortment of knives and blades piled up.

  The other room was dedicated to my wealth, which I meticulously organised. I had six types of watches, nine rings, and a sum of $173.45. While it may not sound like a substantial amount, I had to remind myself that it was the 1870s. There were a few other items, but I chose not to count them at that moment.

  After a few weeks of intense effort, I finally finished everything. It was a relief, as working with my avatar's limitations was time-consuming. It at least kept me distracted for some time.

  Time continued to pass. I eagerly awaited the winter's end, watching and waiting. As the weeks passed, the weather slowly started to change. The snow melted slowly and turned to mud. Travellers began to be seen more often along the road, and green could be seen more often than snow.

  It was spring by now, I thought.

  I was watching the people using the road when I spotted an anomaly. A rider was coming from Crossway over the rise. The figure was on a horse and was moving with purpose, slowed by the mud but pressing on. The rider crossed the swollen ford and travelled along the road, now covered by the trees. The rider turned up the track and was approaching.

  "Well, here we go."

  I moved my view to the gates. The day was coming to an end. The sunset was two or three hours away. The rider came into sight from the trees and was not who or what I expected.

  It was a Native American man dressed in rugged clothing. He was covered in mud and looked like he had been travelling for some time. He dismounted and walked to the gates. He passed through the partially open gates into the small courtyard and the plinth. He stood in front of it and seemed to read it. After a few moments, he turned and walked back to his horse.

  "Are you leaving or getting ready?"

  I had to ask myself, but his actions answered my question without a doubt. He opened his saddlebags, pulled out some clothing, and hung it over the saddle. He pulled his hat off, letting the two hair braids hang across his chest. There was silver in the black, and he looked to be in his forties, but it was hard to say. He then started stripping to his underwear and putting on the new clothes. Several more accessories were pulled from the bags and put on.

  Before me was now a full-fledged Native American warrior of a great plain's tribe.

  The last two things were taken and put on. The first was a belt with three knives attached to it. The second was a beaded bag slung over his shoulder. He looked himself over and then began to dance and chant or sing in his language. I did not know if he was praying or psyching himself up.

  I had nothing else to do, so I watched and waited.

  The sun was now dipping behind the mountains when he finished. He walked around the horse, which was grazing nearby and was partly blocked by it. When he came back into my sight, he held a lantern.

  Again, he walked through the gates and turned to follow the southern path.

  [A Challenger has entered your Dungeon.]

  I felt the Hunters stirring. Rodriguez would have the first crack at him. I was now just an observer. Rules were rules.

  Both Hunters were awake and out of their lairs. They sensed the Challenger and which territory he was in. Rodriguez was moving in his direction. The warrior had not lit his lantern and was moving along the path. The stone walkway was mainly clear, and he was moving with a cautious ease. He knew trouble was coming and was ready for it.

  Rodreguez found him and did not wait long to attack. He moved in fast to make a quick kill with his tomahawk. The warrior was no slouch and reacted quickly. Instead of retreating or standing his ground, he countered the attack. As he did, he drew a blade.

  This surprised Rodrigeuz, but he pressed on. He swung his tomahawk down, but a forearm blocked it. The warrior had gotten close enough to avoid the blade and blocked the handle. His own blade stabbed at Rodriguez's guts. He tried to divert the blade and was able to, but his hand got sliced in the process.

  He lept back, snarling in pain from the wound, but the warrior did not let up following him. Blood was oozing from the wound, but the two men continued to strike out at each other. Dodging and weaving, they avoided impacts from the other's weapons.

  Whoever he was, the warrior was good.

  Rodrigeuz was back on the defensive as the warrior pushed forward. With a quick swipe, he scored a wound on the warrior's arm, but it was shallow, as the leather clothing he was wearing protected him. Rodreguez received another cut, this time along the abdomen. It was bleeding but shallow.

  The fight's momentum was against Rodriguez, and he tried to get it back. Pushing forward, he swung wildly at the Native American. He was probably hoping to knock his opponent off balance, but this was not to be the case. The warrior stepped in and used his arm to block a swing, stabbing his knife in low. The blade sliced through his clothing, scoring a deep wound below his ribs.

  Snarling in pain and rage, Rodriguez headbutted his opponent. The collision of the impact separated the two. The warrior's nose was bleeding; it looked broken, but he was still in the fight.

  Rodriguez was in a bad way. The side wound was hampering him, and he was bleeding badly. He was no fool and knew he was in a losing position. He quickly began backing away and sought safety.

  The warrior did not follow but watched him until he disappeared from his sight. Rodriguez retreated to his lair, and as soon as the door closed, the timer appeared but frozen.

  [Hunter: Hector Rodriguez will be healed in 18:00:00.]

  "Well, it's up to Rigger now."

  The warrior reached the church and entered the building. For Challengers, this was the only safe place outside the courtyard at the gates. The warrior's lantern was lit, and he walked across the room to the altar. Here, he stopped looking at the statue and altar. Then, he reached into his satchel.

  A necklace of Native American design and construction, made from leather with beads and feathers, was laid on the altar.

  [Challenger's offering has been accepted.]

  I felt a series of strange images flash through my mind, and I felt mixed emotions. Pride, love, and family came from the necklaces his wife once wore. I knew she was dead now.

  After this, the warrior treated his wounds. The cut on his arm was bandaged with a wrap from the satchel. He reached out, grabbed his nose, and snapped it back into place. I got the impression he had done this before.

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  He picked up his lantern and walked back to leave the building. He could stay longer but seemed unwilling to. Rigger was hiding, watching for the moment.

  The warrior was weary as he retraced his route. I knew he was sure this was not over. I wondered what his dreams had told him to bring him here.

  Rigger was moving.

  He stayed out of the circle of light from the lantern. The night was cloudy, and the moonlight barely reached the Dungeon. The warrior was alert, scanning the darkness around him. He knew he was being stalked.

  Rigger threw a knife ahead of him as he attacked. This surprised the warrior as he did not see it in time. The blade buried into his leg, causing him to cry out in pain. He fell to his knee and dropped the lantern. It was sturdy and did not break when it hit the floor.

  Moving in, Rigger had his bowie knife out and ready to use. The warrior pulled the blade out of his leg, blood staining the leg. He turned to block Rigger's attack but was not fast enough due to his wound. Rigger's attacks were quick and aimed to be deadly as he closed.

  The warrior blocks the first two, using his forearm to stop the blade. He sacrifices his arm but to no avail. Rigger knocks his opponent's blade aside and plunges his blade into the warrior's chest. He grunts in pain, and several more stabs have him coughing up blood as Rigger holds his body in position. I think he tries to say something.

  Here, he dies.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill]

  I felt a slight sense of unhappiness at his death. This was the first Challenger actually to make it to the church and lay his offering on the altar. Part of me wanted to see what happens when the Dungeon is beaten.

  This brought me to level three. I decided to wait and take care of things before levelling. I reached out and connected to my Hunter.

  "Rigger, you know what needs to be done."

  "I know. The place getin' filled with greasy Mexicans and stinkin' Injins."

  I thought about what he said. I could have made a few comments about pots and kettles, but I remained silent. He set about work digging the warrior's grave. I watched him, and an idea in my head grew stronger the deeper the grave got.

  I went back to the church, leaving the doors open. The offering was still on the altar. I summoned my avatar and picked up the offering. I walked back to the gravesite, and when I got there, Rigger kicked the body into the grave. I thought about talking to him about respecting the dead more but then remembered the bodies in his lair.

  Looking in the grave, the warrior had fallen onto his back and was looking up at me. I got into the grave and laid the offering on his chest. I felt that this was where it belonged. It was then that I knew I would only keep the offerings of those you succeeded against the Dungeon.

  I dismissed the avatar, and Rigger filled the grave. The warrior's possessions were reclaimed from his horse, which was set free. The loot was divided, and Rigger retired for the remainder of the night.

  Time to level.

  "Are these boxes getting a bit sarcastic these days?"

  The perk I selected from the list was Crypts. It scaled and gave each mausoleum a single room below it. I had other options, but I did not want to be sidetracked any longer. I had a plan, and I had to stick to it.

  The church came back into focus. Looking around, the quality of the building and its contents had improved slightly. The roof was now higher, the windows larger, and the stained glass more detailed.

  There was a crypt below the building with several alcoves in the walls for bodies. The entrance was located in my weapons room and took the form of stairs going down.

  I went up and looked over the whole Dungeon. It was larger again, with more graves, statues and mausoleums. The path to the centre was more complicated, with more dead ends now present. It was getting closer to an actual maze with each time I levelled.

  But there was one thing I needed to check on. It was easy to find the grave.

  "Sorrowful Dreamer of the Shoshoni Tribe."

  Now, that was not the name I expected of the warrior. What did it mean? What was his story? Was that even his actual name?

  I knew I would most likely never know, and I would never know any of their stories. I might discover some if I was lucky, but most would be beyond me. My hunters were neither very chatty nor open to sharing their life stories.

  "I would like to know a few."

  Why did they come? What did they hope to gain or even lose? What drove them?

  I had many questions but was forced to accept that I would never know the answers.

  "To things I can control."

  Another step toward my dream of a Necropolis. A 1.5-mile-wide domain was nothing to sneeze at. Now, I was expanding down, adding more to it.

  I triggered [Hide the Crime!] and went to work. Two hours after dawn, I roused my Hunters and got them to tasks I needed to do. Rodriguez was sent to the road to clear the path and check for signs, and Rigger was sent westward to a depression I had spotted.

  Rodriguez reported it was clear of signs, and the path was free of obstructions. Rigger found it was a ravine that was quite deep. Now, I found that interesting. I had the two take turns clearing a route to the ravine. I could use it to hide things like wagons if need be and later cars if they are created in this world.

  This took us into late spring. There was more traffic, and more people were heading for Crossway. I still thought it was a stupid name for a town, but what could I do?

  The weather was clearer most days, and the land was vibrant green. My Hunters were back to spending time in their lairs, and as there was nothing to do, I let them be.

  I settled into the usual routine. Watching the world pass by.

  After a few days, I noticed a wagon turning up the track to the gates. It was getting late, and the sun was starting to descend behind the mountains to the west.

  "Right, then, who are you?"

  I shifted to the gates. They are partially open as usual, allowing entry to anyone who wishes.

  The wagon rolls up to the clearing, and a man gets out of the front seat. It is the same type as the others I have seen. Maybe a bit more banged up.

  He looks at the gates and smiles. Walking to the back of the wagon, he opens it and gets inside. After several minutes, he comes back around with a back slung over one shoulder and a woman tied up and slung over the other. She is only dressed in what would be called her underwear in this time. From what I can make out, she is gagged and not in a good condition.

  He walks into the Dungeon through the gates and leaves the courtyard.

  [Potential Hunter entering the Dungeon!]

  This stirs the other two, but they remain within their lairs. I follow him as he walks through the Dungeon. Its increased size seems to confuse him, and he is forced to rest by dropping the woman. He is not expecting the long walk. This allows me my first good look at her.

  White, mid-twenties, with straw-coloured hair and green eyes. She was gagged, but from her expression and muffled tone, she was not saying kind things. There was fear, but it was fuelling her anger, and she fought every time she could, but being bound limited her. She had the signs of being hit a few times, and her face had a few bruises.

  After resting, he picked her up and continued on reaching the church. She cursed him the whole way. I had to respect that; she still resisted in her way.

  Entering it, he walked up to the altar and dropped both his pack and hostage. This was his first mistake as she landed next to the pack and one of the strapped blades.

  The man was focused on the statue and altar. He pulled off his hat and coat. He placed them on the floor. His back was to the woman, and he did not know that she had released the blade and held it in her hands. She had been bound by rope with her hands in front of her. That was a classic mistake; she should have been bound behind her back.

  "Well, this is going to be interesting."

  She cut her legs free and stood. The man had pulled another larger blade from his belt, stepped forward and placed his hand on the altar.

  [Potential Hunter: Jack Smith. Has asked to become a Hunter in your Dungeon and offers a sacrifice to you.]

  [Do you accept: Yes or No.]

  "Yes."

  The woman was on her feet and coming up on him from behind.

  "Let's see what happens here."

  He turns, and she leaps at him. His surprise is total as she collides with him. Both have the blades they are holding buried in the other. Each is a fatal wound unless treated. Jack collapses back onto the altar and slides down. The knife sticking out of his chest and has gotten a lung, maybe even his heart. He is coughing up blood.

  The woman had his blade in her stomach and was now leaning on the altar and bleeding out fast. Which would die first?

  The woman fell forward onto the altar and began to die as her body shut down. The hate in her eyes was keeping her going, but it would not stop the biological facts of what was happening.

  [Potential Hunter: Jack Smith. Has been killed by his offered sacrifice to you.]

  [Do you wish to offer her the role of Hunter? Yes or No.]

  Now, that was something I did not expect to happen.

  "Yes."

  What would she do?

  "Yes."

  She died as she spoke the word, as it was expelled with her last breath.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill]

  "Eh? Ok?"

  What did this mean?