Tasha sat bolt upright, coughing violently.
Blood and filth gushed from her lungs, vanishing into the air like the monster's carcass beneath her, slowly evaporating. With the barrier shattered and the magical cycle broken, the remnants of this magical creature finally found release, melting away like dirty snow under the sun.
The skin corroded within the monster's belly rapidly regenerated, saturated with magic. The energy swallowed whole moments before surged chaotically through Tasha's body, unstable and prone to halting or even regressing during the regeneration process. She felt so full she could barely contain a burp, her mind a chaotic jumble. Closing her eyes, she tried to make sense of what had just transpired.
The blood-red egg on the monster's forehead was indeed its weak point and source of magic, but that shell wasn't the core. The monster's soul stored within was. When Tasha shattered the egg, the imprisoned creature invaded her, its immense chaos causing severe corruption—perhaps all magical beings that had come here in the past had become part of this core within such pollution. Tasha's soul was pure, resolute, and inclined toward order. Faced with the monster's soul, saturated with endless filth and chaos, she was instantly overwhelmed.
It was like trying to block sludge with a white glove—the moment they touched, contamination was inevitable.
Fortunately, this attack targeted only the soul.
Tasha had Victor as backup. As a ruthless boss, she'd learned just how effective demonic gifts could be during their last battle against the paladin. She'd since filed Victor away in her reserve deck—though firmly in the "non-renewable, use sparingly" category. If Victor had been of limited use during the monster battles, once the conflict reached the realm of souls, he became an undeniably potent reinforcement.
He certainly was.
Through empathy, experience, and instruction, Victor temporarily synchronized Tashan's soul with his own. In this state, Tashan's soul approximated that of a demon. And compared to the demons native to the Abyss, what could a degraded, artificial monster soul possibly be? Demons fed on souls, possessing stomachs that devoured without discrimination, utterly unfazed by such minor contamination. The demon-possessed Tasha smacked her lips, chewing on the soul that had attempted to parasitize her earlier. It tasted like a sour candy bean.
Above the underground chamber, fragments of rock occasionally fell, yet it did not crumble apart as it had in the illusion. The devouring had ceased; the remnants clung to life, posing no immediate threat of collapse. Tashan attempted to stand but failed, so she simply lay back down.
Corroded skin regenerated, ruptured organs mended, fractured bones regrew—many likely crooked. The blood haze in her vision slowly faded, pain returning. The right arm used to cast [Call Full Moon] was utterly ruined, yet her heart remained intact. Tashan was battered, but victorious.
"Victor?" Tashan said.
"What?" Victor responded listlessly.
"We won. Cheer up," Tashar said. "Thanks."
"You should be thanking me," Victor grumbled.
The resentment in his tone made one wonder what he'd lost this time, but Tashar was more curious about another question.
"Was 'that' you?" Tashar asked.
Not the great demon from his memories, but the shadowy figure who appeared at the beginning and end of the illusion.
Though the voice was identical—more reliable and dangerous than the Dungeon Book, which usually seemed comical and unreliable—the figure carried a completely different aura. If the one who'd told Tasha "Don't lose to me" at the start could still be linked to Victor, the tall man encountered later carried an unsettling sense of unfamiliarity.
The difference between them was like two roles played by a masterful actor, and Tasha hadn't even seen their faces.
"It's all me!" Victor caught her meaning and snapped, annoyed. How many times have I told you? I'm a Grand Demon, for crying out loud! Do you even grasp what that means? Becoming a legendary mage from ordinary beginnings happens once in a million lifetimes. Compared to that, ascending to Grand Demon as an Abyssal Spawn? That success rate is practically a freebie! Grand Demons are powerful and rare. Calling us the Abyss's favorites or its lords isn't an exaggeration..."
"See? That's precisely why I find it hard to take you seriously." Tasha sighed.
"What? Because I'm a Great Demon?" Victor's voice rose in disbelief.
"No, because this kind of exaggeration lacks credibility," Tasha said. "It just sounds tacky."
Victor fell silent for a long moment, as if struck by a massive shock or blow.
"I didn't lie," he said, sounding slightly aggrieved. "Is telling the truth wrong? If it weren't for the contract forcing me to speak truthfully, I could easily spew a bunch of wonderful lies."
"As the Book of Dungeons, you provided the introduction in the Dungeon Chronicles, right? You even called that slime the 'Devourer of All Things'—Dev-our-er of All Things." Tasha enunciated each syllable deliberately. Unfortunately, Victor showed not a hint of embarrassment. "If something of that slime's caliber deserves such a title, how much weight should I give to your so-called Lord of the Abyss?"
"...Fine." Victor conceded reluctantly. "But that wasn't my intention. I once..."
"Suffered severe soul damage, right?" Tasha rolled her eyes, finishing his sentence. "So what's the deal with the illusion?"
"That's a long story." Victor evaded the question.
"Then make it short."
"Aren't you leaving? This place might collapse any minute."
"A rib pierced my lung. It'll take time to heal. I can't get up, and it hurts like hell," Tasha snapped. "Why else do you think I'm stuck here talking to you?"
"Isn't it because you want to thank me immediately?" Victor exclaimed in shock.
Immediately, Tasha sincerely praised his hard work, solely because Victor sounded so pitiful.
The Book of the Dungeon accepted the compliment with a sour expression and began explaining the illusion Tasha had encountered.
In short, it wasn't strictly an illusion.
It was the interior of Victor's soul.
A bone-chilling cold seeped from the path's edges. Scaled creatures brushed past her ankles, and hissing whispers filled her ears—yet in this environment, she'd instinctively thought she was back in the reed ponds she'd often pass as a child. It just proved how foggy her mind had been back then. When swept into it, Tasha had been in a daze. Now, Victor's reminder sparked her memory of this sense of déjà vu.
She had once searched Victor's soul through the link. The sensation had been like entering a pitch-black path, only to be expelled halfway through her first exploration. Perhaps she should have understood then: even for a severely wounded Archfiend like Victor, his soul was far beyond her reach.
It was Victor himself who guided her in, permitting her to wander within his spirit. Yet even with Victor's current permission, Tasha's journey remained fraught with obstacles.
"I once cast a spell within my own soul," " said Victor. "Any intruder would encounter 'him'—a fragment of my soul, essentially the version of me that cast this spell."
The Archfiend trusted only himself, carving out a projection to guard his soul. "He" functioned like white blood cells within a body, exploiting home-field advantage to confuse any invader before employing the most effective method to kill them, turning enemies into nourishment.
That's why Tashan became so dazed upon entering. Had she ultimately failed to force herself out and instead attacked "Victor" under his enticement—which was indeed a covert invitation to murder—she would have played right into the demon's hands. She would have become lost in the illusion, gradually losing control of her own soul.
"It's a permanently set spell. I can't dismantle it," Victor said. "If you attack him, he'll devour you, and I'll be finished for attacking my contract target. That chain reaction death would be utterly ridiculous."
"Can't be undone? Didn't you ever consider situations like mine?" Tasha asked.
"A Great Demon never invites others into their soul. Intruders are always enemies. They used to call me 'the Great Demon who always has a way out'... though now, many of those escape routes are lost to me—all because of the damage to my soul." Victor sighed painfully. "Of course, I never imagined I'd end up in this predicament."
The Archfiend Victor had set a hidden fuse within his soul centuries ago. Indeed, if the soul's fuse could be revoked, its very existence would be meaningless should it be forcibly disabled by a controller.
The Archfiend concealed within his own soul steered Tasha forward. Exploiting her trust and manipulating her blind spots, he led her to the most malevolent recesses. He seamlessly wove malevolent intent into his teachings, like a serpent whispering poison into Eve's ear, or a friendly cannibalistic psychiatrist. While purporting to help Tasha combat the monster's soul corruption, he secretly emulated its tactics.
Yet, just as even the most sophisticated deception struggles to fool the truly uncorruptible, Tasha awoke through sheer willpower.
"Victor, the one who always has a backup plan"? After experiencing firsthand the effortless traps he laid, Tasha finally grasped the intellectual danger of the former Archfiend. Yet hearing him claim he didn't even remember his own backup plan was amusing—it sounded like a squirrel scattering pinecones in autumn, cleverly burying a hoard only to lose track of them, ultimately planting trees for others while his own reserves became forestry.
"So the one who told me not to lose back then is you now?" Tasha asked.
"Yes."
"I never would have guessed." Tasha stared silently at the book.
"What exactly is your prejudice against me?!" Victor snapped.
"By the way, were those truly your past feelings on the Material Plane?" Tasha quickly changed the subject. "That craving for souls, that restless yearning for the Material Plane... Do all demons feel this way, or was it just another trick of yours?"
"All creations shrouded by the Abyssal Will feel that way on the surface."
"Even now?"
"Now... no." Victor hesitated. "Probably because I'm wounded. Why?"
"I suddenly have a bit of respect for you."
"What?"
"Just this brief experience nearly turned me into an indiscriminate killing machine," Tasha admitted frankly. "You endure that craving constantly yet still choose to store souls instead of devouring them. That's remarkable self-control."
Victor snorted, as if to say, "Of course."
For the first time, Tasha felt intense curiosity toward the Abyssal species.
Despite being beings steeped in chaos and every form of malevolence, they didn't slaughter nonstop upon reaching the surface. In this regard, the Archfiend's self-control was actually superior to that of ordinary humans. Was that innate urge to kill due to the Abyssal Will? A vague conjecture flitted through his mind, too elusive to grasp.
"I don't know what you've encountered, but don't be too naive." " said Victor. "Lower Abyssal creatures slaughter indiscriminately the moment they reach the surface—no oversight needed. I maintain my sanity only because I'm powerful enough to suppress my instincts with reason. Archdevils must devour countless rivals to climb to the apex of the pyramid. I didn't spend so long reaching this position just to return to what I've been doing for eons."
This rare display of seriousness earned him a surprised glance from Tasha. Though fundamentally a depraved demon whose values lay a million miles apart, in certain ways he unexpectedly mirrored her own nature.
Power used solely for destruction is like burning a qin zither or boiling a crane.
The wound in her lung had healed.
Tasha rose to her feet, gazing at the ceiling whose tremors grew ever more frequent. The intricate reliefs fused with the magic array had lost all recognizable form. As the barrier freezing time shattered, the passage's chronos flowed once more. Collapsing passages appeared in the distance. Tasha began to run. Before the treasures here were buried, there were still things she could take....
Terence roared, his battleaxe blocking the iron golem's fist.
The baptism of the Heart of Nature had made this beastman warrior even stronger. His muscles bulged, veins throbbed, and his battle cry pierced the sky as he stood immovable. His legs planted in a horse stance, center of gravity lowered, his sturdy frame resisted the towering golem. The warrior blocked the golem's attack, his feet sinking deep into the mud.
The iron golem's fist was locked beneath the battleaxe, the crystal on its head flickering faintly. If the stalemate continued, perhaps the warrior's flesh could not withstand the steel's might. But this was a battlefield, and Terence was not alone.
Bowstrings snapped in rapid succession, their chorus buzzing like a swarm of bees. Under the bright moonlight, the archers' eyes were as sharp as hawks. Shortbows fired faster than longbows, though lacking their power; yet at close range, their impact remained devastating. With the warrior pinning the golem's movements, the archers behind him fired without fear, unleashing volley after volley.
Within seconds, Litiya unleashed a seven-arrow volley. The girl who had been frail years ago now possessed the strength of an Amazon—this finest human apprentice among the Amazons in recent times had never abandoned the shortbow. Her rapid fire sent seven arrows striking the crystal eye of the golem in rapid succession, each hitting the same spot. Cracks spread relentlessly until the eye finally shattered and fell.
Though the iron golem's body was impervious to blades and arrows, its crystal eyes proved as fragile as those of mechanical birds. This vulnerability was small and high, yet not without countermeasures. The barrage of arrows shattered the crystal, and nearby Amazons wielding longbows followed up. Harpoon-like arrows plunged deep into the golem's eye sockets, then were yanked outward with force.
Black smoke billowed from the wound.
Jacob weaved through the golem horde. This battlefield was thick with druid-enhanced flora, a natural playground for the orcish ranger. New scars marked his body; though not more muscular, he moved with heightened agility and resilience. Jacob skirted the steel golem's back so closely that if it turned to seize him, its original opponents would gain a moment's respite or an opening for the finishing blow. Instead, he deftly flipped over the golem's arm and executed a perilous turn to escape; If the golem ignored his proximity, then the daggers would pierce its joints. He waited for an opening to climb onto the massive iron block's shoulder, ready to deliver a blow at any moment.
Jacob wielded a dagger in each hand, more comfortable than the blades he'd once used in the arena. He moved with the agility of a fox when evading and the ferocity of a lion when attacking, blending seamlessly with the remnants of vines and branches in his surroundings. He relied on nature, yet he also summoned it.
Jacob's innate skills evolved under the infusion of natural energy. The probabilistic ability [Nature's Caller] transformed into the guaranteed success of [Nature's Summoner].
[Nature's Summoner]: Standing at the world's center, you call upon nature. Empowered by the Heart of Nature, the elements heed your summons. This skill allows you to summon natural essence into any environment, transforming the cold stone city into a druid's ideal domain.
The wilderness is no Stone City.
The dungeon cast its spell upon this battlefield, and the Tree-Speaker Druid's magic surged like fertilized soil. Even when severed by golems, the thick foliage spattered sap upon steel. The air itself seemed to grow humid, as if within a rainforest, and the golems' movements slowed slightly. Could rust be forming upon them?
A dazzling silver streak darted across the battlefield—the radiant silver wolf. Unlike Jacob, Marion wasn't merely a backup; she was one of the main forces on this field. Her dagger-like claws dug deep into the earth as she charged, colliding with and toppling the steel golems. Her claws gouged deep marks into the reinforced steel plates, the shrill screech of metal grinding making one want to cover their ears. The silver wolf's massive jaws snapped shut, seizing the golem's head. She tore and shook it mid-air, leaving teeth marks on the iron skin. Amid her roar, another tin can was dismembered into several pieces.
The Ranger's skills and the Silver Wolf's presence subtly altered the environment. Heavy clouds had dispersed, revealing a bright full moon high above, illuminating fertile, lush land. The Dragon Rider squadron rose and fell like seagulls hunting fish on the sea, repeatedly shaking the golem horde. While some honorable warriors fell to the ground, dragons never crash. Magic swiftly mended the flying dragons' limbs, while the reserve dragon cavalry stood ready, waiting to mount their steeds and charge into battle.
Deep within the southeastern corner of the battlefield stood an exceptionally massive, monstrous golem. This iron colossus possessed no fists; instead, its arms were twin razor-sharp chainsaws. Even idle, these blades were deadly weapons.
Cheetah's supple body was hurled aside, nearly ripped open. She transformed back into her petite human form upon the ground. The charging ram had its long horns severed; a deeper cut would have exposed its brain matter through the fractured skull. The druid's vines attempted to rescue the fallen shapeshifters and orcs, but the golem swung its chainsaws relentlessly, severing the tendrils and threatening to slice through the wounded as well.
"Death Coil!"
Simultaneously, a voice in the throes of metamorphosis bellowed, nearly cracking.
The soil in that small patch trembled as countless weeds began to grow wildly. These resilient plants instantly wrapped around the chainsaw golem's lower limbs, then crawled up its waist and arms. It struggled fiercely but couldn't break free. The roots of the weeds spread in all directions, solidifying into a sturdy, vast network both above and below ground. The golem now had to contend with ten meters of land around it. It wildly swung its arms, but the chainsaw couldn't loosen much of the restraint. The weeds were far finer than vines, and their sheer number made them difficult to untangle.
Alfred, the creator of this vast web, chanted his incantation. As the son of the Tree Seekers, he was the first to earn recognition as a Tree Speaker from the Heart of Nature. After years of refinement, he had finally developed his own method of attack. He was past the age of being called a boy, and the young man had grown tall in recent years. Unfortunately, even as a young mage, he still stood no taller than his archer training partner.
"Alfred!" the brown-haired Amazon shouted.
Atlantean began her run, gathering speed with each stride. As she leapt, vines wrapped around her waist, just as they had countless times during training. Alfred's vines jerked her upward abruptly. Mid-air, Atlantean drew her bow, released the arrow—its trajectory perfectly aimed.
The now-adult Amazon warrior wielded a longbow—a heavy, devastating weapon inherited from her mother, difficult to draw yet terrifyingly potent. The arrow shot forth, piercing the gap in the chainsaw golem's skull and exploding instantly.
This was a new weapon from the Artisan Dwarf Workshop. As their research into magical technology deepened and productivity at the southeast corner factory improved repeatedly, these creations—bridging cold and hot weapons—made their way onto the battlefield. The agile archers used ammunition supplied by the Artisan Dwarves: arrows that could explode, carry paralyzing toxins, or carry electric plates once used by light airships. With the finest craftsmen as their backup, archers now possessed the capability to confront steel golems.
The electrical charge carried by a single arrow was but a mere scratch on a giant golem—if fired at its outer shell. The electrified arrows detonated within the gaps of the Iron Golem's armor. The current surged through the intricate circuits within its body, sparks flying as the colossal creature twitched like a giant bear struck by lightning. The acrid smell of burning flesh wafted through the air. The Chainsaw Golem did not fall, but its eyes went dark, and it ceased all movement.
"Nice move!" Atlant landed lightly, giving the Tree Speaker a thumbs-up.
"You too!" Alfred replied, watching the Amazon charge back into the fray.
Behind them, the wilderness flickered intermittently with the flashes of arrows alight with electricity or fire.
Since the battle began, the dungeon's forces had felled countless golems. Yet their numbers seemed scarcely diminished.
The wounded kept piling up.
The field hospital overflowed once more with casualties. Those who arrived first were fiercely determined, but the later arrivals grew increasingly silent. Not only were their injuries more severe, but something else was eroding the warriors' resolve. The medical staff's expressions darkened as they learned from the wounded about the situation outside: many of the giant golems, seemingly destroyed, could rise again after a period of time.
As one of the pinnacles of arcane technology, these steel golems possessed self-repairing magical runes within their cores. With sufficient mana, they could be returned to combat.
In the rear, tightly sealed off from the encircling armies, steel golems, and other arcane weapons, mana surged along the rails toward this location. Magitek devices aboard the train operated by a team of technicians continuously fed mana into the golem's body. The tracks, the train, and the distant mana source formed an immense circuit. Its principle made Tasha inappropriately think of wireless routers or Bluetooth devices, capable of supplying the golem's mana consumption across distances.
"Let me go." Douglas struggled to his feet, still not fully recovered from the aftereffects of draining the magic array, but unwilling to remain confined to a hospital bed any longer. "I heard you have a way to heal contracters directly... I can try bypassing that device."
"You're not injured, just weakened. Healing won't help," Tashan said. "It's unnecessary."
"Are we just supposed to let our men waste themselves against things that can keep resurrecting? It's pointless!" Douglas protested, frustrated.
"It's not pointless," Tasha countered.
Every drop of blood was not wasted. They drained the golem's magic, prolonging the battle. While they fought a bloody struggle, the consequences of the capital's source shattering were spreading to the southeast corner of Tasmalin Province.
"What do you mean it can't be done?" General Cyril frowned.
"Sir! There seems to be a problem with the energy transmission," the technician replied, sweat pouring down his face as he fiddled futilely with the chaotic instrument panel. "There might be some interference..."
"What interference?"
"I've never seen readings like this..." the tech officer stammered, his assistant already scurrying frantically around the massive console like a cage of maddened rats. "It's as if... as if..."
"As if what?" the general snapped. "All I know is no golems have risen for ten minutes! Those abominations are pushing the front lines toward us!"
"It's as if the source itself vanished," the tech officer whispered.
His fear was entirely justified. The general's face twisted into a terrifying expression. "Do you know what you're saying, Captain?" Xiriel laughed bitterly in his rage. "Are you implying something's wrong with Erian's capital?"
"But I can't think of any other explanation," the tech officer said desperately.
"Drag this incompetent techie away," Syril said flatly, slapping the nearby technical officer. "Now, you tell me what's wrong."
All the senior technicians looked on the verge of hysteria. The aide called out by the general stared blankly at the instrument panel, his face pale as he forced a wry smile. "No, no, no, that's impossible..." he murmured. "Right, it must be a circuit blockage. Just increase the power output."
"Then do it now!" Siriel commanded.
He gave the order, but the technicians hesitated. More golems ceased moving, and the filthy alien creatures began close combat with the human soldiers ahead. The overwhelming advantage threatened to vanish, and the useless technicians dithered. Rage boiled within the general as he stepped forward himself.
Having studied some arcane technology at the military academy, the general flicked the power output switch to maximum.
Screams erupted near the train. The druid reacted swiftly, hastily conjuring a wall of trees. The night sky lit up instantly. Behind the tree wall, the train exploded.