July 1885 was a very wet month. The month started with a large thunderstorm that swept through the area, but it was quickly followed up by several other smaller storms that kept the whole area subdued. Anything in the open was pounded by fat, heavy drops of water from the sky. Thankfully, there was no lightning show from strikes on the spatial bubble.

  The damaged windows in the church let a lot of rain in, and I was forced to do some basic cleaning to ensure that the water did not cause any long-term damage. I was sure my next level up would repair all the damage anyway, but I wouldn't take any chances. It also gave me something to do, which was quite welcome, as though I had two challenges so far this year; overall, it had been pretty quiet. It was good to find out if there were any limits to what my avatar could do outside those I already knew.

  Over the years, insects had migrated into the Dungeon, but no animals. It seemed that there was a beehive now in a tree on the south side of the Dungeon that was doing quite well. In the last 15 years, the wind had brought in quite a few seeds of flowers that had taken root in the Dungeon, which I had used to create my flower beds. The bees had set up shop and were now pollinating all these flowers across the South side of the Dungeon right up to the church.

  They arrived about two years ago, and I suspected I could take up beekeeping if I wanted. I had thought about it for a while but decided against it because it was too much work. I had no knowledge of the job, but I had the advantage of not being able to be stung by the bees. I discovered that by trial and error with them.

  Roberson's lair was the only one with a potbelly stove and a crude chimney. Smoke was produced at the start of the month as he cooked up the leg of the last challenger who had died in the Dungeon. Over the winter, he had gone out and collected firewood and built up a small store of it within his lair. It was at this time I was thankful that I had no sense of smell. From what I remembered of the stories about cannibals, cooked human flesh smelled and resembled pork. Hence why cannibals generally referred to people as "long pork".

  The other Hunters were less active. Roberson has been much more active overall since he arrived. He often asked to be sent out to do various deeds or look for things for me. The others were more content to wait and amuse themselves when active in their own ways in private, but he liked to be a bit more engaged.

  I decided to have a conversation within one day to see how much I could learn.

  "Another firewood run, Roberson?"

  "Yes, Keeper, I used up a bit more than I expected," I spoke to him as he left his lair with an axe in hand.

  "I must admit I'm surprised by your enthusiasm to be out and about. Your fellow Hunters prefer their solitude."

  "I grew up on a large farm as a slave near the Madison Dixie line in Tennessee. As soon as I was freed, I could not be bound in one place. If I did, my feet started itching."

  "How about now that you have joined my Dungeon?"

  "I was initially concerned as my rambling ways always brought me great joy. But I have found that these little excursions fill my needs." We spoke as he walked towards the gates, following the paths through the gravestones. Of all my hunters, he was the most knowledgeable about these routes.

  "I am interested to know when you received your education."

  He smiled at the question. "Yes, many of the white folks find it perplexing to speak to an educated negro. Though I am surprised that you are not, Keeper."

  "Let us just say that my experiences are far different from the average person you would meet in the world."

  Roberson laughed at that as he walked. We were quiet for a few minutes as he continued towards the gate. As he drew near it, he suddenly stopped, and we both heard the sounds of horse wine.

  "Hide. I will investigate what is going on."

  He said nothing but stepped away into the trees and gravestones and quickly made himself hard to see. I approached the gates and saw another rider tying his horse up.

  "Another one?"

  From his clothing and skin tone, it was clear he was Mexican or from close to the border. He was wearing a sombrero and a poncho. As I watched, he removed his gun belt and hung it on his saddle. He unhooked a satchel from the horse's saddle and diagonally had the strap across his torso. Finally, he pulled a large blade out and tested the grip in his hand. The blade was more of a meat cleaver than a knife or a short sword. He attached a leather cord from the handle to his wrist that I quickly determined would stop him from dropping the blade.

  Smart.

  I watched as he approached the gates somewhat hesitantly, scanning around as if he were expecting to be ambushed at any moment. It took a few more moments, but he crossed the threshold into the courtyard and stood before the plinth. I saw him mouth the words written there, and from his expression, he seemed relieved, as he had never expected them to be here in the first place.

  He looked down the southern path and then the northern path. He seemed to be deciding which way to go and was looking for a sign to give him a clue. He eventually turned and walked up the northern path, as the southern path had quite a few bees flying around, and I think he wanted to avoid them. Ironically, this was taking him directly towards Roberson.

  [A Challenger has entered your Dungeon.]

  The minute he left the courtyard and the notification came, I could no longer interfere in what was about to happen. The man moved up the path at a respectable pace, constantly looking around, vigilant for any danger that would come. He only took a few minutes to reach where Roberson was hiding. He passed by him with no indication that he had become aware of his presence. Around the Dungeon, I sense the other Hunters stirring.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Well, it looks like Roberson gets the first crack at this one."

  Roberson emerged from behind the challenger's back as soon as he passed him. He quickly moved up behind him, action hand ready to be used. He got into striking range just after the challenger became aware of his presence. With a loud grunt, he swung down with all his force, driving the axe into the challenge's head. The back of the skull could not stand against the axe blade and collapsed, causing blood and brain matter to explode out of the wound. Roberson received a splattering of blood from the impact, most of it on his face, which he started to lick at with great enthusiasm.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill]

  "Well, this is shaping up to be a bit of a strange year."

  Roberson planted his foot on the back of the now-dead challenger and pulled his axe free. I noticed the way he was eyeing up the corpse.

  "Yes, you can before you ask."

  You never said anything but grinned manically as he started to strip the body. Once he had done this, he began to hack the body apart. I noticed he aimed for specific organs and limbs, ignoring the rest. As long as you buried what was left, I cared not, but I reminded him before I went on with my daily business to deal with the horse outside as well.

  Before I left, I had decided to ask one more question.

  "Roberson, you could get close to the Challenger without him noticing. I have noticed that the others do this. Yet often, the Challenger is somehow alert to their presence. Any thoughts on why?"

  He laughed at the question but answered. "Sure, Keeper. The others have quit the fragrant odour."

  I was stunned that it could be so simple. My lack of sense of smell was working against me now. I left him as I reflected on what he had said, which also raised another issue.

  The fact that I was watching him butcher a human body and felt very little. Sure, part of me was disgusted by it in some respects, but it was far quieter than it was when I first started in my new life. I suspected it was a combination of both time and constant exposure to death that was making me numb towards it.

  The Challenger had little like the others, and what was looted was split favouring Roberson. I gained a little more money but arranged to send it to the Driver family. I did, however, keep the only silver dollar that was in the Challenger's possession. That made five more from the three that have died this year alone.

  That meant I now had 2439 silver dollar coins. Although I knew that the silver would not be worth as much as the gold I held in the long term, I still had a pleasant feeling knowing that I possessed such wealth.

  I used [Hide the Crime!] over the next few days to clean up the mess left by the butchering of the challenger's body. The problem with blood is that the rain does not always wash it away as the blood is heavier. I informed Roberson that all future dismemberments of bodies must be done within his lair and not out in the Dungeon. He accepted the new instructions with no arguments or complaints. Over the next few days, I heard the sounds of construction within his lair and discovered that he was setting up the needed area.

  He also requested a complete set of butchering tools and knives. I saw no issue with this and allowed him to acquire them when he went next to Crossway for me. I supplied him with the money he would need to obtain them, feeling it was a good investment for the future. The other hunters were present when he requested, as we split the loot from the kill. Rigger asked if it was possible he could have a set, too, as he claimed he would need such things in the future. I consented to two sets being bought.

  [Hunter: Atticus Roberson's loyalty changed from Neutral > Good.]

  The notification telling me of the change in loyalty was what I had hoped would happen. I decided early on to ensure that I had good relations with all my Hunters as it made my job far more straightforward. It appeared when he returned to the Dungeon after buying the blades. The extra set was left in the church for Rigger to pick up when he was ready.

  I have considered why I suddenly received an influx of challengers. After a few days of thinking, I realised they could reach here because of the new rail link running into Crossway. The railway gave easy access to the area, and anyone who knew where they were going through the dreams would seek it to cross larger distances faster.

  So much for me trying to lay low for a few years.

  The rest of July passed without any other events taking place. Even the news was quiet, as not much seemed to be happening internationally, nationally or locally. The only thing to note was the reporting of another child born to Augustus Rochester and his wife. It was reported that both were doing well, and the family was happy to add another member.

  August came and went in a similar manner. Very little happened, and no one came to the Dungeon. Amy often visited, dropping off the papers that kept me abreast of what was happening in the world beyond my domain's borders. She had broached the subject of supplying me with several more books and had suggested several titles, but none had interested me, and I had vetoed buying them. I told her that if any interested her, I would be happy to help cover the required costs. She took me up on that offer and bought several books for herself.

  September seemed to be going the same way as the last two months, but something happened that caught my attention. I found out several days after the event itself that what the press was calling the "Rock Springs massacre" had occurred. According to the article, the local miner population of Rock Springs, Wyoming, had been roused to action by the "unchristian" actions of their Chinese coworkers. Since the introduction of the Chinese Act a few years ago, the Chinese population has been subjected to far more harassment. Reading between the lines, I surmised that something had triggered the event, but I could not tell what.

  Several hundred miners were involved in the resulting "massacre" It seems that the Chinese miners were ready for the trouble. I met the white miners head-on. It sounded more like a pitched battle that destroyed most of the town as fires raged out of control during the fighting. The combined dead was close to 90, and the wound was well over 150. The Chinese population had been driven from the town by the end of the altercation.

  The US Marshall Service was reportedly descending on the town to discover what had happened. The mine owners had made several allegations against the Chinese workforce, which were now scattered about. The Marshalls were being sent to investigate and round up the perpetrators.

  A follow-up piece a few days later did have a little side note that interested me. It reported that many Chinese were moving northwards into Cascadia. It also reported that many native tribes were being pushed that way as they were being relocated.

  "I wonder how that will influence the culture of that section of Canada."

  Herbert mentioned that many more trains were now running between Crossway and the Canadian territory of Cascadia across the Rocky Mountains. In my world, the route was called the Organ Trail, but here it was, the Cascadia Trail, as the settlers turned south into the two states of California. The other major rail line followed the coast through Northern California. The Canadian and Mexican governments were making complaints about the forced relocation of people to their territories, but there was not much they could do. All sides deployed more troops to monitor the borders.

  At the end of September, a massive storm rolled from the east. The worst of it came directly over the Dungeon. I counted no less than seven lightning strikes hitting the spatial bubble. There were a few electrical discharges into the Dungeon itself, and some damage was inflicted on a few buildings and a tree, but that was the worst of it.

  October arrived, and the weather was changing. The trees within the Dungeon and all around it were changing as autumn took full hold. The former green leaves were all now brown and gold, and we're starting to fall. I was now beginning to prepare myself for winter as I would be cut off for long periods due to the snow. I was looking out across the world from the top of my spatial bubble when I noticed a large group of riders making their way through the trees towards the Dungeon.

  "Well, this does not bode well."

  I shifted my focus to the gates and awaited their arrival.