The hall remained unchanged from when they had left. All torches had vanished in the storm of terror that had swept through, and the goblins and every scrap of debris on the ground were nowhere to be seen. The droplets of magic pool fluid enveloping the dungeon's core swiftly returned to their places. This gloomy, empty space once again glowed with a faint, eerie light.
They had returned.
In the dim glow, Tashar glimpsed a shadow on the verge of dissipation.
The kiss upon his lips was fleeting and uncertain. The Dungeon Book, its vessel, had been utterly consumed. The soul of the Archfiend could scarcely survive in the Material Plane. Victor was about to be banished by Erian, but the Abyss was no longer his home. His body there had perished, and an inexplicable exile severed Victor's connection to the Abyss. Where could he go after being driven out?
A wandering demon had no place to call home. All that awaited this soul was disintegration.
...Is that the only reason?!
Tasha's eyes snapped wide. A flicker of hope, tinged with irritation, surged through her, propelling her to shove Victor away. Her hand passed mostly through the shadow, but a small part managed to grasp something. Victor still possessed fragments of a form, a half-formed substance that could be touched. The shadow-form of the great demon looked—don't ask why, Tasha could just tell. If you could read the expressions of old acquaintances from a book, shadows wouldn't be much of a challenge—looked bewildered and slightly hurt. Before he could grasp what was happening, Tasha grabbed him and shoved him into the demonic pool.
This was no easy feat. Victor's current state resembled jelly, soft mud, a dark cloud—too little force wouldn't budge him, too much risked crushing him. Tasha's hands slipped through his "body" several times (like passing through quicksand). Eventually, he resorted to the power of the dungeon, using his dragon-winged form and the newly created spectral hand. He dragged and pulled, shoved and pushed, expending tremendous effort to finally submerge Victor completely into the pool.
What lies within the magic pool?
Let's start with the dungeon core. Tasha possessed the ability of the Dungeon Lord, enabling her to move any object within the dungeon. This power originated from the dungeon core itself, not the walls or passages. To illustrate: the dungeon core was the light source, the dungeon the surrounding mirror, and the city merely expanded the core's reach. Outside the dungeon, the core's influence dwindled significantly, yet with sufficient magical investment, it could still manipulate nearby objects.
This explains why the magic droplets barely diminished. When swept out of the fissure, Tasha acted decisively, commanding all the carried droplets to cluster near the dungeon core. This pool water—fresh from its half-day excursion through the fissure and the Astral Plane—suffered minimal loss, well-protected. Yet the credit belongs to the dungeon core itself, not the magic droplets. The core was the grasping hand; the pool water merely the object seized.
As it swiftly "grasped" all the magic droplets, Tashan had no time for patient categorization. Everything near the magic pool—droplets, shards, dust, and more—was enveloped within the protective barrier of the dungeon core.
Within the current magic pool now resided not only the concentrated magic water.
There were pebbles, dust, and the "key" that had once summoned the Wrath Demon only to be forgotten by it—a jet-black scale.
A black scale bearing an uncanny resemblance to the cover of the Dungeon Book, imbued with the power of the Abyss.
Victor's soul plummeted into the pool, the sapphire-blue water swiftly saturating the shadow. The instant he entered the water, he sensed the scale's presence and instantly understood. His scattered soul drifted toward the black scale in the pool. As the first wisp of black smoke seeped into it, something clicked into place.
The palm-sized black scale transformed into a miniature black hole, sucking in both the pool's waters and the smoke-shrouded Victor in one gulp. The entire cloud of black mist vanished in an instant, leaving nothing behind. The scales continued to gulp down the pool water, even forming a small whirlpool. Who would have thought such a tiny thing could have such a huge appetite? The water level of the demonic pool dropped at a visible rate.
Tasha reached behind her to pry off the dragon wings. These two wings had been torn to shreds in the spatial turbulence, utterly incapable of flight. Yet they had once borne the favor of the Abyss. She tore off the already broken left wing and tossed it into the churning demonic pool, feeling like a witch throwing a frog's webbed feet into a cauldron. As Tashar attempted to do the same to the right wing, her arm snapped.
It was an arm fashioned for emergency use—its lack of durability was hardly surprising. Wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, Tashar realized she was bleeding. Blood poured from her eyes, nose, and countless tiny wounds across her face. Her skin tingled with a prickly itch, the wind carrying a sticky chill. Sensation seemed to have numbed, and the countless tiny wounds showed no sign of healing—instead, they grew larger, like cracked porcelain vessels filled with water.
Even with the protection of forbidden spells, this dragon-winged body, battered by spatial turbulence for so long, had reached its limit.
Since that was the case, she might as well put it to waste.
Tasha plunged into the magic pool like a swordsmith leaping into the forge. The soul within the dragon-winged body returned to its original form, while the shell rapidly decomposed in the pool. There was no Dungeon Book, but there were scales from Victor's original husk; no Wrath Demon clone, but there was a dungeon creation once favored by the Abyss. Far from the optimal choice, yet at least passable—barely surpassing the bare minimum.
Tasha felt an immense weight lift. Having narrowly escaped death, she couldn't tell if this relief belonged to herself or the other being now pressed against her. Then came a wave of dread, mixed with half-hearted irritation—had Victor intended to die if she hadn't remembered the scales in time? He claimed he didn't want to die, yet completely forgot the very source of his last chance at survival. How could such a foolish Archfiend exist?!
A faint, feeble sense of grievance rippled through the link. If Victor could speak now, he'd likely launch into another tirade: "Damaged demon souls lose IQ points, you know," "I was busy casting forbidden spells," "And you don't even thank me."
Victor remained unable to speak. He barely possessed the capacity to form coherent words, let alone conscious thought. His demonic mind remained hazy, like a patient just waking from general anesthesia. Having lost his body and drained of strength, maintaining consciousness alone was an immense struggle—let alone continuing his verbal sparring with Tasha. Victor clung stubbornly to wakefulness, like a puppy determined to watch TV with its owner, nodding off bit by bit yet refusing to drift back to sleep.
"Sleep," Tasha said. "We have plenty of time."
Almost instantly, the consciousness snapped.
In this fleeting, indistinguishable fusion of repair, Tasha could feel Victor's soul flame slowly dim—but not in an unsettling way. They were so close that Tasha knew he was out of danger. Victor was gravely injured; he needed rest, needed much time and many conditions to gradually recover. But he would live.
The part of him she knew would endure.
Let's skip the sad farewells. We have plenty of time.
Only an hour had passed since learning of the Abyss's invasion. The minute hand had barely moved halfway since the Wrath Demon's true form appeared. The rest of the dungeon remained untouched, this event known only to a few participants. Saroth's Holy Son stood at the passageway entrance, having heard the earlier deafening clamor, hesitating whether to investigate. The ghost relayed a message to him: go home and rest.
This sudden crisis, after a brief yet far from easy struggle, had finally reached a temporary conclusion.
Only now did Tashu find time to assess her gains and losses.
The doppelganger of the Wrath Demon Saemon had been used to replenish the Dungeon Book, effectively offsetting the losses incurred. The true forms of the Archdevils, favored by the Abyss, had all been swallowed by spatial turbulence, leaving not a trace behind—a considerable pity. However, without that spatial turbulence, Tasha might not have escaped unscathed. After all, the enraged true forms could have at least held her back, and if she hadn't slipped through the cracks, things would have turned out far worse. The Dungeon Book's depletion during the forbidden spell was offset by the scales obtained, serving as a temporary vessel—barely balancing the costs.
The greatest gain lay in the dungeon's restructuring and upgrade.
[Fragmented Dungeon - Tasha]
Merging and restructuring in progress: 51/100
Attributes:
Nature - You have gained the recognition of Nature's Heart. The will of Nature watches over you.
Dragon - You have gained the recognition of the lingering will of a legendary ancient dragon. Dragons from afar cast a glance your way.
Abyss - You once received the favor of the Abyss's will. Even though its gaze has faded, the mark of having been a favored child of the Abyss remains forever etched upon your soul. The favor of the Abyss has vanished. Tasha had thought it a temporary buff, but now it seems this effect left a trace behind. It was as if she had registered a name with the Abyss. While it wouldn't grant her many favors in everyday matters, the next time she dealt with the Abyss, she would wield its power more easily. This attribute remained within her soul, a step beyond her former "Abyssal Affinity."
Abyss, Nature, and Dragon—three attributes coexisted within the dungeon core. Surprisingly, they caused no conflict.
For over a decade, the reconstruction progress bar had remained a question mark. Even when Tasha used smuggled fragments of the dungeon core, the bar showed no reaction. Now, that chaos finally displayed concrete numbers. After experiencing the Abyss's favor and confronting the Astral Plane, the progress surged to fifty-one percent. With the progress just past the halfway mark, new content appeared on the previously bare progress bar. Tasha could sense another opportunity for advancement.
The fissure had vanished completely, the passage once again silent. Years remained before the Abyss's invasion. The Erian Empire, unaware of the impending threat, remained calm. Near the Nightfall Line, peace reigned. Many plans needed adjusting, many matters required acceleration. Before that, Tasha had at least one night to pause.
After preparing, Tasha shut down most functions of the Dungeon Core and began the upgrade.
...
The fourth dream since arriving in Erian was shrouded in mist, obscuring the background. Only the central figure remained visible.
Tasha saw a passerby hurrying along.
This person wore a classical-style formal attire, the kind found only in Erian's history books today. Yet even modern aesthetics could appreciate the elegance and beauty of this ensemble. He wore leather boots and a neatly trimmed top hat, appearing more suited for carriage travel than swift footwork—yet that was precisely what he was doing. Judging by the speed at which the scenery receded behind him, this tall gentleman moved with remarkable agility.
Tasha felt a vague sense of familiarity, yet she was certain she had never seen this face before. The man in formal attire possessed a well-proportioned face, yet something about it felt off.
Brown hair, ruddy complexion, thick brows and large eyes—not conventionally handsome, but undeniably pleasing to the eye. He likely fell into the upper-middle range of attractiveness among ordinary people. His face had the most common shape, with utterly ordinary features that evoked an instant sense of familiarity, as if he bore some resemblance to someone you knew. A familiar stranger, an easygoing sort—most people would likely see him that way, and the past Tasha would have too. Yet now, whether from increased experience or heightened intuition, Tasha sensed a very subtle dissonance emanating from him.
If you took all adult male faces in Erian, discarded the ugliest ones, and calculated the average, this would probably be it. But in reality, few people could be this "average." If each person were an apple, every apple would have minor imperfections—a slight crook, a wormhole, uneven coloring from sunlight... But he was different. He had not a single wrinkle, scar, mole, or blemish. His left and right sides were perfectly symmetrical, like a conceptual drawing of an apple or a flawless model.
His ordinary face and gentle expression felt unsettling precisely because of this unnerving dissonance. He was frighteningly "normal," like a well-dressed sociopath, like something in human skin.
He suddenly stopped, lifting his head. Amber eyes met Tashan's.
Tashan instantly recognized who he was.
He was the one who covered her eyes in the Astral Plane. He was the one who taught her soul decomposition during the link. This height, this build. It was Victor. For the first time in so long, she saw Victor with a physical form through someone else's eyes.
Or rather, Victor wearing a human form.
"How kind of you," Victor smiled at her. "Taking time out of your busy schedules to see me off together."
Victor wasn't looking directly at her, but at something else in her direction. The dream's perspective shifted, revealing what Victor was observing. A humming portal opened, and two figures leapt out. One was a burly man, his upper body bare, muscles bulging beneath tattoos that snaked across half his face. The other was a middle-aged woman in a white robe, staff in hand, adorned with an array of trinkets. If this were an RPG, her gear would scream high-level.
The woman's expression was stern as she demanded, "What exactly is the Abyss up to?"
"Now that's not quite right. When has the Abyss ever stopped scheming? Demons work year-round—a demanding profession, as everyone knows." Victor shrugged, performing a mock hat-tip. "What rumor could possibly warrant the presence of Sophia, the White Lightning? I know I'm an unwelcome guest and was just about to head home. No need for you lot to escort me out."
"Cut to the chase," demanded the white-robed mage known as Sophia. "Demonic lords and high-ranking demons are withdrawing their avatars and key minions. What exactly are you up to?"
"Huh? Could it be I've stumbled upon some demonic homecoming season?" " Victor exclaimed, clutching his hat to his chest in a display of law-abiding compliance. "You know my relations with other lords have never been stellar. Asking me about their schedules? You've got the wrong man."
"Enough!" roared the tattooed giant, his voice booming like thunder. "Answer Chacha! Or die!"
"See? That's one downside of hiring barbarians as helpers," Victor sighed. "Getting them to grasp the etiquette of conversation is nearly impossible—understanding their own objectives is equally difficult. Tell me, Chacha, what happens if you kill me here? Hint: I'll awaken in the Abyss. You'd be handing me a one-way ticket back... Oh dear, did I just give you the answer outright?"
"Don't waste words on this fool! Grab him and interrogate him!"
Another figure leapt from the portal, glaring at Victor through clenched teeth. The scrawny priest bore the insignia of Saro, and Victor couldn't help but laugh.
"Why, isn't this little Willy? Last time I saw you, you were barely this tall! Look at you now, all grown up!" The demon in human form greeted him with exaggerated warmth. "I'm truly sorry about your father—I never expected him to fall so easily. Had I known persuading him would be this simple, I wouldn't have chosen him in the first place."
"You vile, shameless demon!" the priest roared, his raised voice cracking. He nearly lunged forward, but the white-robed mage made a gesture, and the barbarian seized him by the collar.
"Stop wasting time," Sophia said coldly. "This area has been sealed off. Victor, Serpent of Lies, you won't leave until you speak the truth."
At three other points, three more portals abruptly opened.
They precisely blocked all retreat routes. Four mages instantly wove a web of light, appearing thoroughly prepared. The eldest white-robed mage, Sophia, stepped back, becoming the pillar of this luminous barrier. A fully armed warrior stepped forward, followed by a bare-handed, bald monk. Together with the tattooed giant already present, the three guarded their respective directions, encircling Victor at the center.
"A magic-suppressing zone, huh," Victor muttered to himself.
His physical appearance was shifting.
Near his skin, subtle distortions rippled like oil parting on water, revealing the darker depths beneath. The spell-crafted illusion shattered within the magic-suppressing zone, shedding its harmless façade to expose the demon lurking beneath.
The pale skin of an ordinary man vanished in an instant. For a split second, it seemed as though his true complexion had inverted. Unlike Marion's, unlike the Wrath Demon's, Victor's skin was dark—a deep bronze with a metallic, almost scaly texture. Curved horns sprouted from his forehead, his yellow irises spread across his entire eyes, and his ordinary, friendly face melted like wax, revealing a completely different visage beneath.
He was strikingly handsome, yet terrifyingly so—a beauty as sharp as a blade. Though the term seemed ill-suited for a towering, muscular man, it was the first and only adjective that sprang to Tashan's mind. How to put it... like humans witnessing a divine blade cleaving mountains, or a colossal dragon slicing through the heavens... This demon was unmistakably non-human, its face both wickedly majestic and utterly unsettling.
Yet it suited him perfectly. More than the ordinary face before, this one truly embodied "Victor."
He was never human, nor ever benevolent.
"Surrender," a warrior declared, staring down the demon lord. "This place is temporarily sealed from the Abyss. Your spells hold no power here. Sign the contract. Tell us the Abyss's schemes..."
"You're offering me a merciful death?" Victor inquired curiously.
"You have no choice!" Priest Willy sneered. "The Temple of Saro has ample space prepared for abyssal scum like you."
"If you cooperate, we can spare ourselves the trouble," the monk added.
"The Abyss commands me. I cannot speak," Victor replied with apparent distress.
"Then we'll make you talk," the warrior declared, stepping forward.
"The White Tower's magic-suppressing array, the legendary barbarian of the North Sea Highlands, the legendary monk of the Kaizela Monastery, and a legendary warrior—a decent team for a magic-suppressed zone, I suppose," Victor shook his head. "But just this few men to confront a demon lord? Truth be told, my pride is a bit wounded."
No one responded. The cleric muttered to himself as divine light shone upon the three legendary adventurers.
"Personally, I believe matters best resolved with words should never be settled with fists—that's barbarian behavior. Sorry, Chacha, not targeting you." " Victor waved reassuringly at the barbarian who'd assumed a fighting stance, setting his hat on the ground. "That's why I rarely fight on the Material Plane, which seems to have caused a slight misunderstanding among those present. For instance, I'm actually not very skilled with magic."
Victor straightened, lifting his head to flash a toothy grin at his foe—a row of jagged teeth bared.
"I'm actually a melee specialist," he declared earnestly. "Stereotypes can be deadly, huh?"
The cleric flew backward.
The cleric flew backward, his chest exploding into a pulp, his body shattering into pieces in an instant. Before anyone could register surprise, the Archfiend charged into the ranks of the legendary adventurers, crushing the skull of the weakest monk with a single blow.