After that, the human forces descended into chaos.
The train hadn't been blown to pieces entirely—otherwise, a mere tree wall would never have stood a chance against a self-detonating steel dragon. The problem lay in the energy transfer station-like section. When a chaotic surge of magical energy, a phenomenon unseen in millennia, collided with overly hasty and reckless manipulation, the energy core near that part of the train overheated, melted, collapsed, and erupted in a blinding flash. Thick black smoke billowed from the smokestack.
It scarcely qualified as an explosion. The carriages retained their basic shape, and the emergency fuel stored at the opposite end could even power a reversal. Yet the magic flow had severed. Deprived of power, the golems gradually froze in place on the battlefield, their raised fists suspended mid-air, transforming into silent steel statues. The army commanders happened to be gathered in the malfunctioning car. Human torsos lacked the resilience of steel plates to keep functioning near melting temperatures; a mere medium-rare roast rendered the military command center utterly useless.
Thanks to centuries of warfare instilling organizational discipline in human armies, mid-level officers drenched in cold sweat assumed command responsibilities upon realizing what had happened. Defense troops below the train retreated back onboard. The remaining technicians activated emergency systems to execute the train's sole remaining function: reversing direction and retreating backward.
The underground city chose not to obstruct them. Tashan deployed its forces to rescue survivors and clear the battlefield.
The human army had indeed avoided catastrophic damage, but eliminating them no longer required further sacrifice.
Collapses appeared in the distant suburbs of the capital. At first, nearby residents dismissed them as mere tremors. But when all the collapsed areas were cordoned off by troops, it became another unspoken secret. The bigwigs were roused from their sleep. Gears that hadn't turned in ages creaked back into place. The heart of the empire began to beat wildly. Martial law was enforced. Countless troops were mobilized.
Two days later, the garrison at Lake Rebe evacuated by train. Emergency boilers burned vast quantities of charcoal, producing an acrid stench, conspicuous black smoke, and staggering fuel consumption—yet they avoided the embarrassment of abandoning their vehicles. Troops mobilized for Tasmarin were swiftly recalled. The empire's entire military began to stir, though not toward the underground city in the southeast.
Except for zealous hawks like General Syril, most of the empire's high command viewed the dungeon entrenched in Tasmarin Province as merely a distant nuisance. They resembled wealthy individuals gazing at distant storm clouds from their mansions, half-heartedly acknowledging the impending rain without lifting a finger. Even when the matter was formally discussed, they privately believed such unrest would soon subside—a non-threat that wouldn't truly impact their lives. But the collapse of the capital's magical source struck like thunderclaps at their ears, jolting awake all who had been sleeping or feigning slumber.
The century-long overlords suddenly realized the very foundation they relied upon was not eternal. The higher the echelons, the deeper the shock. The source they believed impregnable was now fracturing. Technicians scrambled to salvage it, utterly powerless against the colossal breach. Today's mechanics all graduated from military academies, most confined to theory. The few active-duty personnel typically only maintained small magical devices—as warfare diminished, these technicians found fewer and fewer places to be useful. Some soldiers mocked them as repairmen for the privileged families, and indeed, that was the case.
Human magical technicians' skills had not only stagnated but regressed; many crafts were lost under the management of laymen. Spellcasters vanished during the witch hunts, and the few remaining diviners could wield no magic beyond prophecy. Where could one find skilled hands to mend the magical arrays left by legendary mages? The underground palace was a fusion of magical technology and arcane runes—a feat so terrifyingly complex to repair that the modern human empire dared not attempt it. This is precisely why they dared only station troops at the outer perimeter: they feared accidentally damaging some component, causing this lost, intricate mechanism to malfunction.
The empire's enemies, however, had no such concerns.
What this implied was even more terrifying. The enemy had penetrated the empire's heart, breaching the traps and safeguards left by the Archmage to destroy the magical core—and the disappearance of certain items suggested they might have even escaped unscathed. It was unclear which was worse. The Erian overlords, complacent from their unbroken victories, were jolted awake, drawing swords and scanning their surroundings.
Tasha felt no concern about rousing a sleeping lion, for the very blow that had awakened it had temporarily crippled its claws and fangs.
The human empire's massive troop movements stemmed not from anger but from fear—why else would all forces be redeployed to guard Eryan's heart? The thunderous strike had flung its languid arrogance to the opposite extreme, transforming it into timid caution. The old overlord had lost his edge. Once he possessed nothing, willing to fight to the death with his head on the line; now, rich beyond measure, his life was precious beyond measure, and the thought of risking it all had long vanished from his mind.
The people of the underground city returned to Lake Rebe.
The atmosphere in this city was peculiar. The formidable ironclad army that had stormed in with such ferocity fled in disarray within days, leaving behind terrified citizens and bewildered Guardsmen. The garrison forces, having held power for mere days, looked around in bewilderment. Some slipped away, others put up a last-ditch resistance, while still others burned their insignia and hid among the citizens, hoping everything would return to normal. The forces in the southeast corner swiftly crushed this feeble resistance. As they entered the human city, cheers rose from some half-open windows.
They took the city without a fight, the resistance from the remnants of the Imperial Army—the original garrison before the capital forces arrived—merely going through the motions. Upon learning all prisoners would be spared, they promptly surrendered to the underground city.
"Thank God," " someone muttered, only to be kicked by a comrade. Realizing his remark was politically incorrect, he promptly shut up.
The most time-consuming part came when taking over the prison. They found it completely overcrowded. To house the newly captured Guardsmen on-site, the original prisoners had to be released. Southeast corner troops herded the Weiguo soldiers into cramped cells. The other prisoners grew restless, spitting at the invaders and cheering for the foreign army that freed them.
"You traitors!" Weiguo soldiers shouted, faces twisted in tragic defiance. "Long live Erian!"
This time, no hero's welcome awaited them. Enraged fellow prisoners closed in. Guards who knew what these men had done averted their eyes, pretending not to see.
Those imprisoned weren't necessarily "collaborators," nor did they necessarily understand the dungeon, or even hold any affection for it. They were simply cheering that their own suffering had ended. Those imprisoned without trial were subsequently interrogated one by one to determine their guilt. During this period, ninety-nine percent of the incarcerated had been wrongfully imprisoned, and the more unfortunate among them had also endured torture.
Medical care arrived before the reviews. Some prisoners, barely clinging to life, wept uncontrollably upon seeing daylight again. After weeks of torment, many never lived to see their names cleared.
The informant left behind in the southeast corner secretly submitted reports. Those in charge made the most rational judgments possible about who had become hardened accomplices over the past weeks. Having endured hardship alongside the citizens, these informants gained greater acceptance among the populace, making them more effective at reassuring residents. They mingled among the crowds, assuring people that the Imperial forces would not return and that the change in power would not trigger a new wave of purges.
The residents of Lake Rebe cautiously emerged from their shelters, no longer cowering like frightened birds in their nests. As markets and streets revived from winter's grip, and reliable intelligence from the imperial capital of Erian spread nationwide to Tasmalin Province, long-suppressed anger finally erupted.
Stones shattered the windows of those who had acted as the tiger's henchmen; rotten vegetables and rotten eggs were smeared on the doorsteps of those who had been most powerful in recent weeks. The tiger had already turned tail and fled. Those who had borrowed its might now stood without support, forced to answer for their deeds. Even the mildest souls, driven by hatred and fear, raised their fists. The wheel of fortune had turned. They smashed open the doors of past oppressors, shouting: "Settle the score! Make them pay! Down with these executioners!"
Tasha allowed the settling of personal scores within the prison, permitted graffiti and rotten vegetables to vent the fury, yet forcibly halted it before the rage could brew further. She publicly tried and imprisoned those under siege, isolating them from the fists of the enraged in this manner.
The Little Mustache was one such prisoner. After his trial, he lost his wealth and freedom, yet breathed a huge sigh of relief. His face beaten into a pig's head, he hid behind the guard, his rage screaming inside. Many were furious with the preliminary verdict. "He killed Valke! He deserves hell!" the female painter Quentina shouted hoarsely, her eyes red. "Why protect him instead?!"
"Because of the law, dear," sighed her patron, Madame Laura. "We are not like them."
"I didn't know you still cared about 'the law'," Victor sneered.
"Procedural justice," Tashu stated curtly.
"Useless. Is there any law here you dislike that could possibly remain?" " Victor asked, half-curious, half-mocking. "So you really intend to protect those who damaged your property?"
"I'm not protecting them," Tasha said.
The goal had never been to shield these petty criminals, but to protect the innocent. Their hands must not be stained with blood; anger must not corrupt their souls, ultimately making them no different from those they despise. The guilty must receive fitting punishment—not for vengeance, but as a warning to others. She had no intention of testing human nature or exploiting such fervor. The people's rage, though cheap and useful, was dangerously volatile—like an energy source rife with contamination.
She didn't need them turning on each other, nor did she want her domain consumed by endless infighting. Only precarious rulers rush to uproot every trace of dissent. Those certain of victory possess a longer view, assessing the overall gains and losses as masters of their domain.
"In this, you resemble some of the finest rulers I've encountered," Victor murmured with a low chuckle. "You show no favoritism toward any lamb in the flock... In truth, your ruthless detachment yields the same outcome as universal benevolence."
"You overestimate me," Tasha mused. "Had Marion been murdered, I would still have held a public trial and declared the perpetrator in custody. But behind the scenes, I would have ensured the killer suffered a most agonizing death."
"..."
"It would be the same for you," Tasha offered consolation.
"Who cares!" Victor snorted. Bound by the contract forbidding lies, he painfully added, "Maybe I care just a little... Fine, not just a little! Enough already? This isn't funny!"
"Oh. ^_^"
"..."
Many trials would continue. Tasha needed time to cool his anger, repair losses, and digest gains.
This haul surpassed any previous one.
The imperial capital's forces had come swiftly and departed just as quickly. The emergency facilities they'd constructed at Lake Rebe could now serve the dungeon. Numerous small magical devices had been left behind in the hasty retreat, while the golems and prisoners represented immense wealth—the former would elevate the dwarven craftsmen's magical knowledge to new heights, the latter filling a labor shortage for years to come. Yet for Tasha, an even greater prize awaited.
Dragonwing had returned, bearing spoils of war.
Her wings bore scorched marks—a magic cannon had grazed her before departure, its force leaving visible scars. Tasha's right arm was gone, completely necrotic. Beyond repair outside, it was better disposed of than carried as dead weight. Her sole remaining left hand brought back a magical machine—both the device and herself required repairs.
Marion had been waiting at the landing site long before, waving from afar with her tail wagging like a fan. Though the dungeon was the true entity, the wolf girl instinctively regarded this mobile form as Tasha herself, greeting her with the fervor of a long-lost reunion. She clung to Tasha all the way to the treatment room, though whether she regretted it once the healing began was unclear.
Magic could mend Tasha's body, but if the bones weren't realigned in time, they'd fuse crooked and misaligned. With no way to fix it outside, Tasha would have to ask the doctors upon her return to break every misaligned bone, set them, and let them grow back properly.
Human doctors possessed excellent anatomical knowledge, easily locating the crooked bones; the beastkin nurses lacked the strength to break Tashar's bones by hand, so they resorted to using a Magtech Chainsaw—a tool akin to an electric saw, characteristic of the Artisan Dwarves—to saw them off bit by bit. It was a bit troublesome, but better than starting over from scratch. Mavis provided anesthetic herbs, rendering the dragonwing body completely insensitive to pain. The magic pool water swiftly healed the wounds and regenerated the right hand—a tremendous convenience.
Marion didn't seem to agree. Her ears twitched with the chainsaw's hum, as if it were her own limb being sawed. Poor girl. To distract her, Tasha began recounting her experiences in the capital city through the link.
Marion soon became engrossed, particularly drawn to the witchcraft segments while remaining vague about the capital's magical technology and underground palace heritage. She asked, half-understanding, "Then what happened?"
"They were buried," Tasha said. "The magic cycle collapsed for the most part. Without the protection of the magic array, the underground palace couldn't sustain itself. Back when it was built, the cities above probably weren't this heavy, without cars coming and going every day."
"Oh," Marion said, wearing an expression that screamed, "I don't get it, but this is so cool!"
The wolf girl had never gotten along well with magical technology. Anything more advanced than a slime lamp left her utterly helpless, making her not only uninterested in such things but downright resistant. Had the audience been artisan dwarves, they would surely have beaten their chests in anguish, weeping bitterly over the lost magical museum.
Tasha felt the loss deeply too. The expedition to the capital had been like entering a dragon's lair—the thieves who ventured in wished they could sprout extra hands. Tasha, unfortunately, had lost one. She devoured vast quantities of magic stones, exceeding the war's demands. Yet swallowing the dungeon's core would likely plunge her into evolutionary slumber, while the underground chambers would surely collapse before her escape, burying her alive. Even if Tashar didn't care for this body she'd grown fond of, she'd never want humans to dig her up someday, meeting the same fate as dragons and mages.
The artifacts showcasing human and dwarf magical technology were ultimately buried beneath the capital city.
The crystal sarcophagus remained intact, while the mage's remains inside turned to dust as their magic was drained. Ice crystals could indeed keep corpses vividly lifelike, but centuries of magical exploitation had turned the deceased mages into desiccated husks. Tasha's voracious consumption drained their last vestiges of value, leaving no trace of their existence in this world. The dragon's corpse met the same fate. When Tasha regained consciousness and surveyed it from afar, she knew instantly that nothing on its body was worth plundering.
She left behind the mage and the dragon, the weapons and the witch. Yet the treasures she had half-stolen, half-seized before humanity could react were worth more than anything else.
Tasha took the Abyssal Factor Detector.
This hadn't been part of her plan. In fact, she had already taken a component from that "suspected computer." But as she prepared to leave, she sensed another object sending her a powerful resonance. The object, shielded by the magic cannon, emitted subtle magical fluctuations. Only upon closer inspection did Victor suggest its potential function.
"It can detect Abyss Factors across the entire continent," Victor stated. A flash of insight struck Tasha. She immediately released what she was holding and resolved to take it.
Now, the artisan dwarves had not repaired the magic...
This wasn't part of her plan. In fact, she had already taken a component from that "suspected computer." But as Tasha prepared to leave, she sensed another object sending her a powerful signal. Protected by the magic cannon, its magical fluctuations were subtle. Only when she drew closer did Victor point out its potential function.
"It can detect Abyss factors across the entire continent," Victor stated. A flash of insight struck Tasha. She immediately released what she was holding and resolved to take it with her.
Now, the artisan dwarves weren't repairing the golem. At Tasha's request, they devoted all their energy to studying this instrument.
"So you're finally ready to find a way to open the Abyss portal?" Victor exclaimed excitedly.
"You're overthinking it," Tashar denied.
"Or are you just shy?" Victor teased gleefully.
Tashar gave him a pitying look. "I'm not you."
The function she needed wasn't Abyss Factor detection, but a powerful effect capable of covering all of Erian.
The ability to cover all of Erian could be combined with the thoroughly researched and improved Red Hound to create what Tasha desired.
Autumn passed amidst strife, and the people of Erian welcomed a peaceful winter—though this peace felt as fragile as winter ice. The tense truce lasted several months, with many events unfolding beneath the surface.
Lake Rebe had fully aligned with the Dungeon. Residents avoided discussing it, yet clearly preferred their present lives by comparison. Victory had led more opportunists in Tasmalin Province to tacitly accept the Dungeon's expanding influence, placing the entire province under Tasha's sway. Taking advantage of the full retreat of human armies, numerous spies departed Tasmalin Province, heading for all corners of the land.
When spring arrived, the beastmen who had been unable to leave the previous year departed from the southeast corner. Having experienced war, these beastmen, after deep deliberation, remained determined to bring choice and freedom to their kin, no matter how difficult it might be.
"This place will always be your backup," Tashan told them.
The beastmen's leader, the warrior Terence, thanked them and bid farewell, while Marion escorted them all the way to the border. The wolf girl returned at dusk, flashing Tasha a toothy grin before trotting back to the kitchen to find Mavis.
The Empire was not idle. Its entire nation poured resources into repairing the Source. Humans possessed deep-rooted resilience; once their sense of crisis was reignited, the restoration work advanced relentlessly. Like a shattered bottle pieced back together bit by bit, though it could never hold water as it once did, the remaining cup could still gather some liquid.
More crucially, the human leadership gradually recovered from their excessive tension. They realized that even if they relied solely on unarmed soldiers, Erian's forces vastly outnumbered those in the southeast corner.
At this moment, the magical device Tasha needed was finally complete.
"Shall we begin now?" asked Ella, the clan chief of the magical technology research group, standing beside the debugged apparatus. Her face betrayed more excitement than nervousness. The prototype had passed small-scale tests successfully. Drones and spies across the region would provide real-time feedback—everything was ready.
Tasha nodded.
The high-powered magical device, which could be called an "enhanced bloodline detector," activated under the dwarven craftsman's hands.
A crimson beam shot skyward.
Residents in the southeastern corner of Tasmalin Province gazed curiously toward the sky. Days earlier, they'd been informed of a grand demonstration scheduled for this very hour. From cities, counties, towns, and villages, people watched the beam piercing the clouds, wondering what would follow. "Might it shoot down a bird?" a farmer speculated. His companion sitting opposite him immediately retorted, " You don't make such a spectacle just to shoot a bird!"
Some speculated it was a rain-seeking ritual, like those performed by weather-altering druids. Others suspected an attack on the Empire. Look, ripples spread across the clouds, the sky transforming into an inverted ocean. Wave upon wave of concentric light rings radiated outward from the pillar, stretching into the indistinct distance. People beyond Tasmarin Province gazed upward in awe as this spectacle, using the entire sky as its canvas, spread to every corner of Erian.
Then, the light descended.
"Ah! Above your head!"
Phoenix, the orc who'd stayed in the southeast corner, cried out, pointing at the head of her friend shopping alongside her. The artisan dwarf girl looked up and saw a tiny phantom hovering above her. The crimson light had abruptly fallen from the clouds, landing atop the artisan dwarf and materializing into the illusion of a dwarf. The phantom dwarf hammered away at an anvil, the muscles bulging on its arms vividly lifelike.
The artisan dwarf stared open-mouthed for a moment, shook her head vigorously, then began tugging fiercely at Phoenix's arm. Following her finger, Phoenix saw a soaring red bird above her own head, its magnificent plumage identical to the tuft atop her own.
Jacqueline saw a fluttering fairy above her head, Mavis spotted an elf with pointed ears, and Marion beheld a majestic white wolf... The enhanced Bloodline Detector was infinitely superior to the Red Hound, not only identifying non-human origins but revealing their specific ancestral roots. Those with mixed bloodlines beheld miniature versions of their ancestors above their heads, gasping in wonder. For a moment, the southeast corner echoed with the joyous laughter of discovery.
But the crimson glow did not confine itself to the southeast corner, nor to the state of Tasmalin.
"I'm not! I'm not!"
A burly enforcer shook his head frantically before his colleagues, a centaur stamping its hooves above his head. Suspicious glances came from all sides. The brothel guards had seen what appeared above the orc woman's head and now turned their gaze to him.
A gaunt carpenter's apprentice sprinted down the street, already facing attempts by those catching on to block his path. The lizardman's phantom tongue flickered above his head as he clamped his hands over his mouth, remembering how his mother had cried while cutting off his oddly shaped tongue. He'd paid the price already, he thought desperately. Everything else was just like everyone else's. It shouldn't have been discovered.
An inconspicuous street vendor hurriedly gathered her bowls as people stared in disbelief at the enormous phantom hovering above her head—so large it was nearly as tall as an adult. When someone approached her, she sprang to her feet, and only then did those around realize how terrifyingly tall this perpetually hunched vendor truly was. She began to run, knocking people and objects aside as she went. Her hair flew up, revealing a single eye positioned right in the center of her face.
"Get the hell out of here!"
Wood, the shopkeeper, bellowed, swinging a wooden stick as he charged into the crowd, dragging out the terrified Abigail. Above her head hovered a woman, occasionally chuckling softly. Though only a palm-sized phantom, she possessed a terrifyingly powerful pull. Men kept drifting toward Abigail like zombies. Old Wood, gasping for breath, fought them off one by one, but his strength was fading fast.
A wall of air suddenly materialized between the innkeeper and his daughter and the crowd, flinging everyone backward. Edwin stood on the second-floor staircase of the inn, maintaining his spellcasting gesture, his face paler than his terrified niece's....
The hidden alien race had been unearthed. The government and military—especially those in the capital—quickly reacted, labeling this as the Tasmalin alien species' method of summoning its kind. "They must be insane," the high-ranking officials sneered coldly, as orders to hunt down the marked alien species were about to be issued.
Drone feedback reached Tasha, confirming the effect had spread across all of Erian. She activated the [Volume Boost] skill on the detector.
Suddenly, a fiery red like burning clouds swept across the entire sky. After that, red specks fell like a sudden downpour.
People froze.
The soldiers chasing the aberrations stopped. The high command issuing orders halted. The onlookers watching the spectacle paused. The fleeing aberrations came to a standstill. The crimson rain fell relentlessly upon more heads, revealing orcs, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, elves, fairies, merfolk, dragons... Every named and unnamed alien species, every creature branded an enemy of humanity. The tense atmosphere abruptly froze. The crowd, just moments before distinguishing friend from foe, descended into chaos. As the rain grew denser, all could do was gape, staring at each other in bewildered, stunned silence.
Why hadn't humans deployed more effective red hounds before? Their efficacy could have covered the entire nation.
Because in Erian—a land where myriad races coexisted, a land forged from the Creator's jests and the tangled threads of love and hatred among its peoples—there was no such thing as a "pure-blooded human."
This empire, which had operated for a century under the banner of human supremacy, now fell into a stunned silence as the crimson rain fell.