Chapter 63: Orc Camp
Max returned to the manor and found the original line of petitioners waiting for him.
The Skyyard had distracted them long enough to examine the tower, but it had not solved any of their problems. Several new people had joined the line. Two wanted Max to decide which party had the right to use the name Storm Riders.
He sent everyone away for an hour. Him dealing with these issues one by one wasn’t going to work. especially long term when the number of adventures visiting the dungeon swelled.
"We need rules." Anna said after the door closed.
"We already have rules. Nobody can attack anyone. Nobody can draw a weapon. Offensive spells fail before they activate."
Quin sat in the chair across from Max’s desk. "Those are restrictions built into the floor. They do not tell people what happens when they steal from each other."
"They get sent to the Orc camp."
"You cannot make that the answer to everything."
"Why not?"
Anna pulled a blank sheet from her clipboard. "Because someone who forgets to return a borrowed book should not receive the same punishment as someone who steals an enchanted sword."
"One carries books. The other carries rocks."
Quin looked at Anna. "He has clearly put a great deal of thought into this."
Max leaned back. He did not want a city’s worth of laws. The Sanctuary existed to support his dungeon. It was supposed to provide a safe place for visitors to recover, train, and spend their money. Somewhere along the way, people had started treating it as their home.
That was not a bad thing. Every permanent resident earned him DP simply by remaining inside. It did, however, create problems that a tavern and hospital could not solve.
"Fine," Max said. "We keep it simple."
Anna began writing while he spoke.
Personal property had to be returned to its registered owner. Anyone making agreements about party rewards, shared purchases, loans, or housing could register those agreements through the dungeon menu. If they chose not to record an agreement, Max would not waste hours deciding which person remembered a conversation correctly.
Fraud, theft, deliberate damage, harassment, and pretending to represent the dungeon would all be prohibited.
"What about insults?" Anna asked.
"People can insult each other."
"Public accusations?" Quin asked.
"They can make them. If they put up notices, the notices have to include the posters name, they can’t be anonymous."
"What if the accusation is false?"
Max shrugged. "Then the other person can challenge it and bring evidence. I am not going to inspect every rude thing someone says."
Quin nodded. "Reasonable."
The Dungeon Core could enforce registered agreements and track ownership after an item was registered. Gnomes could collect complaints, evidence, and statements. Ordinary disagreements would go before three mediators chosen from long-term residents.
Max would only handle appeals and matters directly involving the dungeon.
"Now we need punishments," Anna said.
"Orc camp."
"Different punishments."
"Different lengths of time at the Orc camp."
Quin laughed.
Anna tried not to. "What about compensation?"
"They replace what they stole or damaged. Then they go to the Orc camp."
"For a first offense?"
"That depends on what they did. Someone who returns a borrowed item a day late gets a warning. Someone who refuses to return it after being ordered can spend a day working. A thief gets longer."
The system became straightforward. Minor problems received warnings or required compensation. Intentional violations resulted in compulsory labor. Repeat offenders earned longer assignments.
Max had no intention of throwing people out. An adventurer outside his dungeon earned him nothing. An adventurer cutting timber, clearing stones, digging irrigation trenches, or carrying supplies still produced passive DP while creating something useful.
"You really are pleased with this." Quin said.
"Punishment should benefit society."
"And the Dungeon Master." Quin quipped.
"I am part of society."
They contacted the Orc Chief who ran the second level and asked him to come to the manor.
The Orc arrived through a portal ten minutes later. He listened while Max explained that offenders would be assigned to an Orc work camp.
"Can my Orcs yell at them?" The Orc Chief asked.
"Yes."
"Can they hit them?"
"No."
"Can the workers hit my Orcs?"
"No."
The Chief rubbed his chin. "Can I make them carry a log up a hill and then tell them it is the wrong hill?"
Anna looked up from her clipboard.
"No," Max said. "The labor has to accomplish something. Timber, stone, roads, drainage, construction, or anything else we actually need. Put them to use while building the fifth level."
"What if carrying the log up the wrong hill builds character?"
"Then you can carry it with them."
The Chief decided the correct hill would be fine.
The camp would not be a prison filled with chains. Workers would wear a dungeon band during their assigned hours. The band tracked their work and prevented them from leaving the designated area. Once they completed the required labor, they could return to the Sanctuary.
They would receive food, water, rest, and the same resurrection protection given to everyone else inside the dungeon. The Chief could supervise them, but he could not deliberately injure anyone.
"This is a punishment, not another dungeon challenge." Max reminded him.
"I understand, Boss."
"And do not make the Orcs collect bribes for easier work."
The Orc Chief looked disappointed that Max had thought of that before him.
By midday, the basic Sanctuary rules were complete. Max created a small office near the village square. Three gnomes staffed the front desk and recorded complaints. Several respected long-term residents agreed to serve as temporary mediators, although Max planned to replace the improvised arrangement once they understood how much work it required.
The Dungeon Core added a civil tab to every registered resident’s menu. From there, people could record party agreements, transfer ownership of an item, submit a complaint, or answer a claim made against them. A person could still make an informal promise, but the Sanctuary would only enforce agreements both sides had accepted through the system.
Quin tested it by registering an agreement that Max owed him one gold piece every time someone called him mayor.
Max rejected it.
"Both sides have to accept." Max said.
"A serious flaw in the system."
The mediators could recommend compensation or labor, but only Max and Anna could activate a work band. That prevented an irritated clerk from sentencing someone to the quarry over a personal disagreement. Every ruling and piece of evidence would remain recorded for Max to review if someone appealed.
Then he made an announcement.
Adventurers and residents gathered in the square while Max stood on the steps of the new office. The Skyyard tower remained visible over the rooftops. Mini-airships moved between its docks as the first crews began practicing.
Standing before the people, Max adjusted his tie and then spoke. "The Sanctuary keeps you from attacking one another. Apparently, that was not enough to keep some of you from causing problems."
Several people laughed.
"From now on, disputes can be registered here. Ownership and party agreements can also be recorded through the dungeon menu. If you steal, damage someone’s property, commit fraud, or continue harassing someone after being warned, you will be sent to work at the Orc camp."
The laughter stopped.
The Orc Chief stood beside the office with a wide smile.
"How long?" someone called.
"That depends on what you did and whether you have done it before."
"What if we refuse to work?"
"Then the time does not count."
"What if we leave the dungeon?"
"The labor assignment begins the next time you enter. It does not expire."
That answer produced a long silence. People who regularly trained inside the dungeon would not avoid punishment simply by walking outside for a few days.
Quin stepped closer. "You forgot to tell them what to call you."
"Boss Clarkson is fine."
"You are acting as the Sanctuary’s final civil authority. That makes you, its mayor."
Someone near the back shouted. "Mayor Clarkson!"
Several others repeated it.
Max glared at Quin while the swordsman looked entirely innocent.
The first official ruling involved the man who had been following the female archer. Anna had given him a clear warning that morning. Less than an hour later, a gnome observed him waiting outside the woman’s home again.
Max assigned him seven days at the Orc camp.
The man protested until the Orc Chief offered him a choice between the timber crew and the stone quarry. He selected timber and was escorted through a portal by two cheerful Orcs.
Max followed long enough to make sure the Chief understood the limits of his new responsibility.
The work camp occupied a broad clearing on one of the unfinished sections. Stacks of felled trees waited beside a dirt road. Farther away, Orcs hauled stone from a shallow quarry and used it to reinforce drainage channels along the hillside.
The adventurer received a plain brown work tunic and a metal band around one wrist. His weapons and equipment remained safely stored in the Sanctuary. The band displayed his remaining labor time and paused whenever he stopped working for more than an approved break.
An Orc handed him one end of a long saw.
"You pull when I push," the Orc said.
"I know how a saw works."
The Orc looked at the man’s arms. "We will discover if that is true."
The Chief grinned.
"No beatings, no impossible jobs, and no extending a sentence because someone annoys you." Max reminded him.
"What if he tries to escape?"
"The band returns him to the camp. Report the attempt and the mediators can add time."
The work was unpleasant, repetitive, and useful. That was exactly what Max wanted. An offender would repay the Sanctuary with effort instead of spending several days inside a cell earning passive DP while doing nothing.
Max returned through the portal as the first log began to fall.
By late afternoon, the crowd had dispersed. The mediators were handling the smaller claims, and Max finally returned to his manor.
Anna met him at the door.
"There are two more people waiting."
Max sighed. "What did they steal?"
"Nothing. They came to ask for help."
An elderly man sat in the front room beside a thin girl who looked around fourteen. Both wore travel-stained clothing. The girl’s skin was pale, and faint gray lines were visible beneath her wrists. Her grandfather kept one hand beneath her elbow even while she was seated.
When Max entered, the old man rose and bowed deeply.
"Boss Clarkson." he said. "I need to know whether the stories are true."
"Which stories?"
The man looked down at his granddaughter with a bit of hope.
"That nobody who dies inside your dungeon has to remain dead."