The dungeon was undergoing consolidation and restructuring. No one knew how long it would take, nor what the final outcome would be.
The soul fragment Victor had left behind as a guardian within the soul existed independently. Unlike Tashan's dragon-winged form, their memories and states should have remained disconnected. Yet now, inexplicably, the Book of the Dungeon was repeating things the avatar had heard.
Two anomalies, neither minor nor significant, had emerged simultaneously, forming a troubling hidden dangers.
Even Mavis, the eldest, lacked deep understanding of the Dungeon and demons. However, a mage named Webster held some theories. Introducing himself as "the inheritor of the Chalk Academy," he claimed this lineage had long studied the vanguard forces of the Abyss.
"Dungeons form their own self-contained systems, separate from the other demonic hordes of the Demon Calamity. They often serve as strongholds for high-tier demon lords and Abyssal converts, making them among the most efficient combat units of the Abyss," Webster declared, opening an ancient manuscript and pointing to the relevant passage. "Though the required catalyst remains unknown to outsiders, this restructuring isn't necessarily detrimental to the dungeons themselves. Dungeons possess the most adaptable magical mechanisms. If you permit, I would be honored to observe the restructuring process firsthand."
His description of the dungeon resembled that of a zoologist discussing his subject—one that had long since gone extinct. Despite the elderly gentleman's refined and courteous manner, his cloudy eyes emitted an unnerving glow of desire, making one feel almost guilty for denying him the chance to study it.
Webster was well into his nineties, unable to see clearly without his magic lenses. His hands trembled dangerously as he held the book (the manuscript looked decades older than him, fragile beyond repair), and he appeared as though a gust of wind could knock him over and blow him away. Back when this modestly wealthy librarian arrived in Tasmarin with a wagonload of books, he refused all assistance, insisting on personally unloading and cataloging each volume himself. This caused a massive bottleneck at the immigration checkpoint. Needless to say, the staff looked utterly devastated, practically begging him on their knees.
"Chalk Academy? Ah ha, that bunch on the Chalk Plains," Victor sneered from the side. "What 'Abyss Researchers'? They're clearly Abyss Cultists."
Judging by the sinister tattoo on the old man's wrist and his methods against the book thief (God bless that man's skin), this was definitely not a scholarly white-robed scholar.
The loyal Abyss worshippers had perished alongside their master. The Cretaceous Academy that emerged afterward could only be founded by renegades among the Abyss cultists. So what? The dungeon shelters both white robes and black robes, welcoming necromancers and witches alike.
The eldest shadow witch had no concept of the dungeon's restructuring. She merely warned Tashar to be wary of demons. "Deal with problems as they arise. You'll never guess what tricks demons have up their sleeves," she declared bluntly, showing no shame in admitting her own limitations ("Come on, witches rely on perception and charm for a living! I'm no mage!"). Then, her eyes gleaming with mischief, she added, "How about letting me give it a shot? I've got some secret recipes for dealing with demons." "
"Like what?" Tasha asked indifferently.
The nameless witch described some unspeakably terrifying tales in a sweet voice. When she got excited, her shadows wrapped around Tasha's feet like many fluffy tails. She rubbed her hands together eagerly, asking Tasha what she thought, as if she'd just shared a simple home recipe. Tasha tore away the shadow clinging to her, refusing politely without a second's hesitation.
Victor should be grateful to tears for this.
Neither the new spellcasters joining the dungeon nor the books they brought could resolve Tasha's doubts. She wasn't a typical dungeon, and Victor wasn't a common mid-tier demon. In the end, neither question found an answer, leaving both unresolved.
"You don't seem particularly worried," Tasha remarked to Victor. "Aren't you afraid your backup will replace you?"
Victor looked genuinely baffled at his own question, but upon hearing Tashar's conjecture, he swiftly accepted the reality and went about his business as if utterly unconcerned. Tashar didn't believe for a moment that he was the type to resign himself to fate.
"It's not a matter of being replaced," Victor said. "Both sides are me anyway."
"Wouldn't there be competition for dominance or something?" Tasha wondered.
"We'll merge," Victor said calmly. "However we split apart, that's how we'll come together. Two parts becoming one—how could there be talk of dominance within a single soul?"
Tasha realized she and Victor were talking at cross-purposes.
"You've already split apart," she tried to clarify. "You didn't know what I said to him back then."
"But I could guess what he—'I'—would likely do, and I guessed right."
"Just because I can predict what Marion would do with near certainty doesn't mean we're the same person."
"True... but that's beside the point! Water poured into different cups remains the same water. The same applies when merging. So why this shell-bound way of thinking? I thought only beings from the Prime Material Plane had such limitations." Victor clicked his tongue. "You can freely split off parts of your soul and place them in different bodies. Would you really fight for dominance with those fragments?"
"But we're interconnected, existing within the same timeline," Tasha countered.
Different bodies were like different vessels, yet souls housed in separate containers remained linked. Rather than water poured into different cups, Tasha's manipulation of distinct bodies resembled slipping hands into puppets—except those hands grew brains.
Victor's soul division, however, was like pouring a pot of water into another cup—and then placing that cup in the refrigerator. If the water outside was salted, sweetened, and boiled over a fire, could the cup of ice cubes retrieved from the fridge still be considered the same substance as the half-pot of water now?
If we consider humans as four-dimensional beings, can a slice from a past time period be considered the same person as a recent one? Experience alters thoughts and character; the longer one lives, the greater the influence of acquired traits. What truly constitutes a person? Who is "I"? It's an unsolvable philosophical conundrum.
If Tasha were to answer, she'd likely say, "The 'me' of this moment is who I am." Even if reincarnation existed, she wouldn't consider past or future lives to be her true self—life must be lived in the present.
"After fusion, we'll naturally connect and share the memories from this disconnected period," Victor said. "I've split and merged countless times—it's no big deal."
"Which side will dominate after merging?" Tasha asked. "What determines it? The soul's quality? Power? Who was the original entity?"
"Whether we merge or not, the contract remains intact. You'll always be my master—that's the downside of soul contracts," Victor sighed. "What exactly are you fretting about? Are you that reluctant to part with me?"
He chuckled, his tone carrying that "ha ha, just kidding" vibe. But Tasha remained silent, and Victor's laughter gradually faded. The pages rustled, seeming uneasy.
"There's nothing to worry about," he muttered. "I won't vanish from merging anyway. Whether things stay as they are or I find souls to merge and mend, every version of me is the same. I'll be interested in the same things, hate the same things, fall for the same..."
His voice trailed off as he spoke, eventually drowned out by the loud rustle of pages turning. The atmosphere grew distinctly awkward, making Tasha feel uneasy too, as if she'd stumbled upon something she shouldn't have. After a moment's silence, she said, "What I mean is... I might not get used to the new you."
The Book of Dungeons fell silent for a moment before slamming shut.
Not only did it close, but a leather strap resembling a waistband whipped around the book several times, tying a knot, then a dead knot. Had it still been on the bookshelf, it might have bounced all the way to the top shelf. The link radiated a torrent of vexation and embarrassment, leaving Tasha wavering between mild sympathy and utter amusement. She couldn't resist touching the book's spine.
"Go away. Leave me alone," Victor said darkly.
Tasha refused to leave, dismantling the book on the spot. For every loop she undid, Victor rewound another—the sight of a book desperately trying to wrap itself up was so absurd that any lingering concern evaporated. Tasha laughed as she opened Victor amidst his protests, feeling like she was forcibly petting a cat's belly.
...
Months later, the Imperial army launched another offensive.
The magic core hummed like a rusty boiler, barely restored to functional capacity. The Empire dared not push it to full power for direct train propulsion. An alternative method involved charging magic stones with the core's energy—akin to a slime's transmutation or Earth's battery charging. Light airships rose over human territories, serving less as aerial vanguards than as support for ground infantry.
Surprisingly, this long-awaited assault fell far short of General Sirel's campaign in both scale and intensity.
The seemingly formidable forces charged across the border into Tasmarin Province, where the local Tas Sand garrison returned fire. After brief contact, the imperial troops withdrew cleanly and decisively. Soldiers brimming with fervor, ready to repel the invaders, were left bewildered. Officers dismissed it as a probing first wave, ordering all to remain on high alert. Yet, drones and spies delivered the same message: there would be no second wave. The Imperial forces had retreated.
This operation was led by General Norman, a seasoned dove. The attack came earlier than Taslam had anticipated for a major campaign. Rather than being fully prepared, it felt forced by pressure—at the moment of life-or-death crisis, the high command had been united. But as tensions eased, factions voiced conflicting views. Meetings became daily affairs, each descending into chaotic arguments. The underground city's propaganda machine ran nonstop. The long-planned espionage campaign was thriving. Stopping illegal crossings required iron-fisted measures, yet such tactics would only deepen unrest among the populace. Redirecting internal conflicts toward war was a common tactic.
Yet Tasha never anticipated this conflict would fizzle out so abruptly. She had expected the Empire to wage a protracted war of attrition, reigniting collective resolve against a common foe.
Soon, Tasha grasped their true intentions.
Just one day after that farcical skirmish, the Chancellor delivered an address in the capital.
"Citizens! Months have passed since that shocking slander," he declared solemnly beneath the capital's clock tower. "As you know, alien beings from the Abyss have invaded our Erian. These vile creatures emerged from beneath the southeast corner of our land, using inhuman malice to subjugate and deceive countless unfortunate souls. The jewel of our southeast, Lake Rebe, has fallen. Indeed, the entire province of Tasmalin now reeks of corruption. They have seized our human empire, slaughtered its citizens, defiled its women, and deceived its children—making them regard their oppressors as fathers! They have convinced them that coexisting with these alien beings is somehow normal! If we allow these demonic collaborators to continue, what will become of our Erian?"
What followed was a lengthy historical comparison, tracing human oppression from a thousand years ago, to five hundred years ago, to three hundred years ago, to two hundred years ago... If humanity's plight truly matched this leader's account, theoretically, no living soul should remain in Erian today.
"Had this been a year ago, I would have called upon our citizens to wage a great war for humanity. Let us reclaim our lands from the clutches of the evil alien race! I would have declared without hesitation that this was a battle for humanity's honor and survival, a war where we must take up sword and shield!" the leader declared with anguish. "Yet the wicked alien race has bribed our unfaithful guardians and destroyed our energy sources!"
Those listeners, unaware of what weapons required what energy, grew enraged by the charged atmosphere.
"Our weapons thus rendered useless, our soldiers could only fight with their flesh and blood. They failed to annihilate those evil creatures who sold their souls to the abyss. But! We shall never yield!" declared the Leader. "Countless battles rage unseen by your eyes. In the shadows, we have repelled innumerable alien assaults, ensuring your safety and peace—so much so that you remain unaware of how many times our great warriors have fought bloody battles for Erian. Just yesterday, we launched a full-scale offensive, committing every ounce of our strength to defend our inviolable empire! Citizens! You who dwell safely in the heartlands! Have you not seen the indomitable airships in the distance?"
Now Tasha finally understood why, even during this severe energy crisis, light airships still managed to circle the entire territory of the Erian Empire—apparently, their primary duty was simply to make that circuit.
The Führer then vividly recounted a brutal battle: how valiant soldiers fought with unstoppable momentum, sweeping through enemy lines and routing the alien forces of Tasmarin Province until they fled in panic, nearly plunging into the sea. Of course, since Tasha's side failed to cooperate by jumping into the ocean, the story took an unexpected turn. The setup had been laid at the beginning: energy depletion. Due to the alien's previous devious schemes, the weapons failed at the last moment, and the mighty imperial army fell just short of victory.
This tale is vivid and full of twists and turns. The author of this speech truly has the talent of a storyteller. If read aloud to the dungeon soldiers who actually fought yesterday, most would listen in stunned silence, even applauding—after all, adapted to this extent, the original story is unrecognizable.
This is not a battle rally based on the notion that a desperate army is bound to win.
"A century ago, we would have mustered every soldier in the empire for a last stand, fighting to the last man," declared the leader. "But now, the Erian Empire stands unshakable. Humanity is the rightful master of the world, the crown of creation! It is not us who should fear them—it is they who should fear us! The longer time passes, the more the restrained ones grow restless and chaotic. Once our energy systems are restored, we shall effortlessly storm the cities occupied by alien species. Without losing a single soldier, we shall annihilate those terrified, evil creatures—like shooting startled birds!"
On the contrary, this was a "non-combat mobilization."
The restless imperial elite and military temporarily refuse to fight.
The Führer delivered a passionate tirade of empty rhetoric, framing this ceasefire as the will of the people—a triumph of humanity and mercy, a humanitarian gesture toward soldiers and civilians. He declared that restoring energy supplies was paramount, that recruiting "mages misunderstood in the past" was essential, and that countering the lies of propaganda from the southeast was imperative. Summarized, these lofty words amounted to nothing more than a defiant "just you wait" before retreating.
"Citizens," the leader concluded, "night has fallen over the southeast. But darkness is always temporary. When the sun rises, it will be driven away without a trace. For the sake of a better world, let us endure for now."
The Nightfall Address ultimately became the signal marking the beginning of the standoff between the Dungeon factions and the Erian Empire.
Hardly.
The Führer's speech reverberated throughout the capital city, then spread across the Erian Empire via newspapers and propaganda announcements. Yet before the entire nation could hear and accept it, a new major event erupted at the border.
Airships belonging to the Southeast took flight.
These airships, more visually striking than even the light airships or the giant whale airships, arrived in flocks, bearing the emblem representing the Tashan faction—an emblem previously printed on drones and dropped leaflets, making it quite familiar to the citizens of the Erian Empire. Military personnel and civilians along the border stared upward in stunned silence as the colossal machines slowly approached across the sky.
As dark clouds spread toward them, the rumble of machinery echoed through the air.
Armored vehicles, steel golems, and artillery from the dungeon side arrived under the airships' shadows, accompanying the fleet.
"Have they lost their minds?" exclaimed the garrison commander in horror. "Do they truly seek all-out war?"
It felt like a massive bomb had exploded at the empire's border, sending the entire military into an instant uproar. The troops who had recently toured Tasmalin Province had returned to the capital the very day after their staged battle, leaving behind only garrison forces tasked with building defenses and dealing with smugglers. Completely unprepared, they were caught utterly off guard.
Are you kidding me? This can't be real! Didn't they say the casualties were minimal just days ago? How could they possibly launch a full-scale attack over this? Officers frantically exchanged horrified glances, rubbing their eyes repeatedly. Soldiers on the front lines cursed under their breath, damning the allies who'd stirred the hornet's nest and fled. Many wore expressions of utter despair: weren't they supposed to be the reserve forces on the sidelines? Why were they facing this overwhelmingly powerful iron army? The troops rallied hastily and chaotically, failing to charge forward immediately.
First, the troops stationed here weren't elite and were completely unprepared. As explained earlier, they lacked the resolve and courage to fight to the death. Second, their opponents—that steel army—were breaking through their half-built defenses like a knife through butter.
The "Nightfall Line" in the Führer's plan had only just begun construction. After all, just days ago, friendly forces still needed to pass through here for their final sortie. The trenches were neither deep nor wide enough. The wooden planks carried by infantry alongside armored vehicles were sufficient for this force to slip through. Having navigated the terrain obstacles, they reached the edge of the half-finished wooden barrier. No armored vehicle ramming was needed; the steel puppets tore through the defenses with their bare hands.
Imagine the state of mind of the outlying troops nearby, who had never witnessed the might of the puppets before.
Tasha had consistently maintained a defensive posture. The dungeon side truly lacked sufficient troops—they were perpetually understaffed. Since first appearing on the stage of Erian, they had never initiated a single battle. Imperial scholars and experts analyzed her combat record and behavior thus far. On one hand, they confirmed the Abyssal Passage remained sealed, deeming Tasha an anomalous dungeon. On the other, they were certain she exhibited conservative behavioral patterns—likely bound by some fatal constraint.
Perhaps these scholars possessed some knowledge of dungeons or even the Nest Mother herself. Unfortunately, "The Psychology of Modern Humans Transmigrated into Dungeons" had never been a field of study in Erian.
The steel puppet army advanced relentlessly, sweeping forward with unstoppable momentum. Armored vehicles and infantry moved in overlapping formations. When the defenders finally arrived, these strangely equipped soldiers charged forward.
Before crossbow bolts could be deployed, the first wave of defenders met the charging humanoid soldiers with swords and spears, their hearts lifting at the sight. At least they were human—or appeared human—better than facing terrifying giant golems and war machines, right? Even if these men carried strange canisters and wore peculiar closed helmets, how much worse could it be? Before the defenders could finish their relief, the enemy hurled their canisters.
The canisters didn't strike anyone; they smashed open on the ground, erupting in a cloud of white smoke. Just white smoke—no violent explosions or anything. It seemed harmless enough... The thought died in the soldiers' minds before it could fully form.
What kind of stench was this? Perhaps salted fish left in a dark corner for three months during midsummer, mixed with socks unwashed for three months, excrement, and foul ditch water—no, no, no, even those comparisons were too gentle. The odor before them was tangible, like a powerful, terrifying punch driven straight through their nostrils, smashing into their foreheads, and bursting out through the crown of their skulls. Before they could react, they were already on their knees, rolling and crawling, weeping bitterly.
Skunk secretions and certain fly-pollinated fungi, extracted and processed by druids, then concentrated into cans by artisan dwarves—this ammunition was pure, natural, and untainted, surpassing any biochemical weapon.
Amidst such brutal assault, this army advanced as if through empty territory.
"To wage full-scale war, these forces are too meager," Victor remarked. "No intention of fighting?"
"Of course," Tashar replied. "This is a declaration of peace."
It was indeed a declaration of peace. Yet without the strength to back it up, such a declaration would only be seen as surrender and weakness.
The underground city had never managed to produce military airships fit for the battlefield, and even passenger airships were a stretch. But advertising airships? No problem. Flocks of them flew out of Tasmalin Province, slogans painted across their hulls, leaflets raining down from above. Steel puppets crushed all obstacles in their path, carrying numerous loudspeakers that blared the declaration on a loop. Under cover from tear-gas infantry, armored vehicles' mechanical arms branded concise proclamations onto prominent surfaces, their very tracks becoming slogans...
Before the massed Imperial forces could intervene, this peaceful propaganda army had penetrated Erian to a terrifying depth, inflicting no casualties and ultimately withdrawing unscathed. They left behind sufficient traces, parading before enough witnesses that their existence could never be concealed or suppressed.
Tasha didn't ramble like the Führer.
Her message was starkly simple: Tasmalin Province would choose the path of peaceful development, embracing all well-intentioned outsiders while championing peace, openness, cooperation, harmony, and mutual benefit. We have no intention of igniting war, though we possess the capability to do so.
The slogan is: For a Better World.
With the "Nightfall Address" as its prelude, the "Peace Declaration" formally ushered in the opening act of a standoff without gunpowder between the Dungeon and the Erian Empire.