Chapter 48

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Chapter 48: Evil

Tasha was tidying up in Red Gum County, passing messages between the Oak Elder and Druid. Tasha soaked in warm water, watching everything in the dungeon.

Splitting into multiple consciousnesses for multi-line combat, being fully focused and not noticing until relaxing afterwards would bring a subtle feeling of divide. Although each body’s consciousness was Tasha, like pouring water into different containers, before reuniting, each split part of consciousness would take on a unique color. The clones were all Tasha yet also existed separately, receiving information with a very brief time difference that was obvious to Tasha’s rapidly processing core.

The main body fused with the Dungeon Core, looking at the corpse before the Magic Pool.

The wolf’s skull rolled several meters away, the fire in its eye sockets extinguished, appearing like a long-placed skeleton specimen. The female body in front of the steps looked horrifying, missing its head and left arm, with skin showing a dreadful indigo color. Tasha saw for the first time the "Body Collapse" side effect of the "Full Moon" skill appearing on a tangible body with flesh and blood, the ghost dissipating cleanly, while the human-like body seemed to have been affected by some kind of body-dissolving toxin.

This feeling was truly strange, watching the body that had been so recently controlled now decaying, not quite mourning it, but still… Perhaps it was like feeling sad when a favorite outfit was torn beyond repair? Tasha looked at the decaying arm and felt strangely relieved she had no head, as no one would want to see their own rotting face.

"When reshaping the body, will the elements be redrawn or will they inherit from the previous one?" Tasha asked.

The part of consciousness within the wolf-headed body did not return to the Dungeon Core after the body’s collapse.

Tasha felt like she was part of herself soaking in warm water, unable to see, hear, or feel her body, but without any unpleasant feeling of being trapped. It was like being awake inside the womb – she felt safe, relaxed, and like she was growing.

"You’re dreaming." Victor said weakly.

You can’t keep the talents you’ve gained; the next time will depend on luck for the quality of the body.

It was even more regrettable to think this way, there probably won’t be the benefit of avoiding getting killed next time, and each time you change bodies you have to train to adapt to it again, death is a heavy punishment. But it made perfect sense, if controlling spirits is like playing a computer keyboard game, using the body of a wolf head has progressed to the level of a holographic online game. Even if you start again with a new body, what you learn using that body won’t be forgotten. So a growing body like this is not a disposable item like spirits. Just think about the magic power required, regardless of the time it takes to create it.

After a big battle, Tasha’s remaining magic power was not even enough to reshape a physical body.

And there’s more than that.

It took less than ten minutes to create the body of a wolf head, scanning the elements inside the dungeon and forming the body immediately. But this time, Tasha could clearly feel that not only did the magic power cost dozens of times more than before, but even when the magic power was sufficient, the time it took to shape the body was definitely more than a few minutes. Was the last time a novice reward? Or does it mean that every time this body is scrapped, the time and magic power needed for the next reshaping will double?

Either way, it blocked the path of "continuously restarting to extract the best talents."

"Out of a hundred chances, being able to cancel a crucial talent once is a blessing from the abyss!" Victor muttered to Tasha in regret, "Thank the abyss, we actually won in such a weak dungeon."

"I’m grateful enough," Tasha said. "Grateful for my good luck, quick reflexes, wit, courage, and fighting with all my might. Grateful for the amazing me."

"Ha! Why not thank me instead!" Victor said.

"Thank you."

"…Are you okay?" Victor asked cautiously, flipping through the pages uneasily.

Victor’s usual phrases related to dark abyss were similar to normal people saying "Thank heaven," Tasha knew that, she was just talking a lot. She was fine, just a little tired.

During the great battle, Dungeon was busy dealing with enemies and looking after the ones she protected, fulfilling her promises as much as possible. Tasha kept track of everything – the number of people, resources consumed, soldiers taking turns, doctors taking breaks. While others could rest, Tasha had to be on duty at all times. She was an indispensable part of the war, a role she never planned to fail in and never thought would be a problem.

Tasha was always someone who set high standards for herself. She wasn’t a workaholic or self-abusive, just someone who trusted herself more. Trusting others with tasks also meant worrying about them, considering their emotions, preparing backup plans in case something went wrong on their end. With all this trouble, it was better to do it herself. No one understood her abilities better than Tasha herself, so she always took on more tasks.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t get tired.

Dungeon’s abilities made it possible for Tasha to do things ordinary humans couldn’t, but she wasn’t a machine. The victory consumed a lot of her magical energy, strength, and mental focus. Even now that the dust had settled, she knew she had given her all at every step. Whether orchestrating battlefield strategies or confronting Paladins in person, both were equally dangerous, and victory was hard-earned. But this was something she could never tell anyone.

Does Tasha need to tell her warriors that the Medicinal Herb Garden is almost empty, there are very few potions left, and despite the appearance of a dungeon that seems to have endless supplies, it’s actually running out? Should she tell the different races in the dungeon that the magically created food will result in famine once the magic runs out? No way! Tasha must make everyone think she is winning easily, they don’t need to see her wounds, just look at the enemies’ bodies under her feet.

Tasha must appear invincible in front of everyone, whether it’s enemies, civilians, or even Marion, who is close to her as a covenantor. She is the leader of the pack, the pillar of support and hope for all followers, and the sword hanging over the enemies and evildoers. She must be mysterious and all-powerful.

In such a place, a leader who is somewhat indifferent but all-powerful is better than a kind ruler who is incompetent.

That’s why there is no one better suited for the job than Victor. With the covenant in place, Victor can’t betray Tasha; he knows her inside out and there’s no need to hide much; he never had any high hopes for Tasha, so she doesn’t have to worry about disappointing him; they are not friends, Victor is still a demon from the evil camp, and Tasha doesn’t care about hurting his delicate soul – Victor doesn’t have one.

Talking to Victor is like coming home from a long meeting with important people, kicking off your heels, unhooking your bra, letting your hair down, and sprawling on the big bed.

Tasha’s doubts about Victor only lasted a few seconds before he perked up again.

"But this time we’re in luck," he said gleefully, "A nearly intact Professional body, and it’s a knight! Throw him in the graveyard, the chances of turning him into a Death Knight are frighteningly high, quick, before it’s not fresh anymore!"

Victor’s tone was like he was encouraging her to strike while the iron’s hot, the rustling of two pages rubbing together, and Tasha could imagine a gleeful rubbing of hands.

Tasha had already called someone, and at that moment Marion walked in, holding the Paladin’s head.

"Did she forget something?" Victor called out, "Her body! Where’s her body? Wait, where is she going?"

"To the cemetery," Tasha said.

"That’s the Amazonian cemetery!" Victor exclaimed.

"Yes, Amazonian would surely be willing to bury a brave knight who died in battle there," Tasha said.

Amazonian respects fallen warriors, whether they are allies or enemies. The Amazon Queen knows the origins of undead soldiers, she turns a blind eye to Tasha’s graveyard factory, as long as Tasha does not cross their line. All Amazonian bodies are buried in their cemetery, a plain and ordinary graveyard that does not create undead soldiers.

"Why?" Victor said incredulously, "You went through all that effort to defeat him, just to bury him in the ground as waste? You lost a body and so many structures, a Death Knight is just a pawn!"

"I will put the other parts in my graveyard," Tasha said.

"Creating a Death Knight requires a full knight’s body," Victor patiently explained, as if calming a suddenly agitated boss, "It’s fine to behead him, but you need to bury him together. The graveyard will repair his neck on its own, but how can a head regrow?"

"Then let’s not create a Death Knight," Tasha said.

"Not making a Death Knight?" Victor took a deep breath and raised his voice uncontrollably, "A Death Knight! It can possess the same powerful strength and all the corrupted skills from its past life. In my era, countless Necromancers spent a lot of effort capturing intact knights. But now, in this rare Professional era, you finally obtained an intact knight’s body that hasn’t been corrupted by spells, yet you insist on burying it separately? Why?! What a waste!"

"Probably because," Tasha looked at the body still tightly gripping the battle axe, "he was a good opponent, right."

Fighting with the Paladin was tough, but undeniably, it was a fulfilling battle. Tasha held no hatred towards him, she even quite liked him. The brave, self-sacrificing nature and respect towards opponents of this old knight made her feel a sense of reverence. One could not say who was right or wrong, just different perspectives. It was just a bit regretful, an aging hero, an untimely knight, wishing he could be of use to her.

A Paladin like this would surely not willingly become a Death Knight, using his own face even after death to fight for the enemy.

Victor hesitated for a while before saying, "But are you still going to throw his body in the graveyard?"

"Yes," Tasha admitted frankly, "After all the losses, I still need to gain some interest."

The more powerful the person transformed into an undead creature, the stronger it would be, a rare find in this Professional era, certainly not to be missed. Paladins considered the head as a resting place for the soul. Tasha read about this in Victor’s memory, where women madly in love with Paladins begged for their lover’s head. The hero among Paladins could have their head buried with honor in a temple. Tasha could only offer limited kindness and respect, able to do only so much.

"What’s the point in that?" Victor sarcastically remarked, "Cutting off his head to show respect? I thought that was only done to prisoners."

Tasha suddenly stopped.

In the Book of Dungeons, Tasha felt a gaze on him, making him uncomfortable. He asked, "What’s wrong?"

"Paladins have a tradition of specially preserving the heads of heroes," Tasha said.

"Well, I don’t quite remember," Victor muttered, coming up with a long-standing excuse, "It’s been hundreds of years, and I’ve been seriously injured…"

"You told me this," Tasha said, "I saw it in your memories just before the battle."

"…"

The memories about Paladins were vivid and fresh.

Victor fell silent, but Tasha didn’t want him to slip away. Ahuang grabbed the Book of Dungeons under her command and opened it.

Victor struggled in vain for a few moments, unable to escape Ahuang’s grasp. He was flipped open, pinned down, and checked page by page. The Book of Dungeons was all blank, with the previous exchange of words and patterns appearing on the central two pages, while the other pages of the thick book seemed merely decorative. It was still blank today, but Tasha found something missing.

One page was missing without a trace, with the cut edges rough as if torn off forcefully.

"What’s going on?" asked Tasha.

"Didn’t you see it?" Victor said reluctantly.

"Who did it? Was it you? Why?" Tasha asked quickly, "To give me memories?"

Passing on memories like a copy-paste method always comes with a cost.

Since Tasha didn’t give anything, the other person had to pay the price.

Victor admitted vaguely that he gave some memories to Tasha – not showing or borrowing, but transferring. When Tasha owned those memories, the original owner would forget them.

"The book page is a medium," he dragged on under pressure, "I am this book now, so the page is my memory… Okay, it’s my soul! That’s it! This damage is irreversible! You can’t touch me until I break the contract!"

As Victor ended, he warned sternly, the yellow eyes in the book nervously watching Tasha, the pages trembling slightly. Tasha realized: why was he evasive? He was afraid.

Yes, just as Victor suspected, Tasha also thought of ways to loophole the contract for more book pages. For a moment, Tasha even considered it. Having those memories directly would be much easier than searching for them one by one.

However, even though Tasha knew that Victor sacrificed part of his soul because they were bound on a ship together, she still accepted his affection.

"Don’t be happy for me not being in the evil camp," Tasha said, wanting to touch the torn pages of a book.

Tasha felt curious.

How did the being from her memories, the one who could sing a song and effortlessly kill a group of Paladins, the one who played with high-ranking Professionals until they were defeated, end up in this situation now? It was completely unimaginable that he and Victor were the same person. His disguise blended in with the crowd, his fighting skills were terrifyingly high, fast, tough, and deadly. After experiencing his battles, Tasha felt her body was sluggish and unbearable.

Asking Victor was no use, as he only knew he had been seriously injured but couldn’t remember what had happened specifically.

It was not an excuse. The demon could survive after his soul was damaged, but the consequences of his missing soul exceeded Tasha’s imagination. Not only did he lose his power and memories, but his intelligence and emotional intelligence dropped rapidly, turning Victor from such a terrifying being into the current Book of Dungeons – that unreliable appearance that couldn’t be taken seriously at all. Tasha felt a strange pity for him, just like how she felt towards an aging Paladin or an endangered animal.

Speaking of which, dungeons seemed to be becoming a kind of endangered species sanctuary in a way.

The casualties from this battle, with the help of as much timely rescue and miraculous potions as possible, weren’t too many, but there were too many wounded to handle. Fortunately, there were new Druids helping out. This group of Druids, perhaps the last Druids on the Aryan continent, signed a contract with Tasha on the second day after arriving.

"We are not just Druids," the middle-aged man leading them said, smiling awkwardly. "We set out since the day we found the Sacred Tree, which was last year, looking for people, taking detours, even making some money along the way. We are sorry it took us until now to arrive."

One-quarter fairy Mavis had a pair of magical boots that could make her jump, while the Druid apprentices, who were only a little better than ordinary people, had to walk step by step. They couldn’t understand the voices of birds and trees, and they were able to find their way here mainly thanks to that potted plant.

Over a hundred years ago, the Druids became separated from the Oak Elder during a siege to protect the Heart of Nature, disrupting their legacy. Some of them picked oak fruits, cultivating them into plants that could sense the aura of the sacred tree. Those who watched over these plants were called "tree-seekers," and the current generation of tree-seekers was the father and son carrying the potted plant earlier. The plants grown from oak fruits turned out to be much weaker than expected, but thanks to Tasha lighting a "Natural Aura firework" in the sky back then, they could find the sacred tree much sooner.

The scattered Druid apprentices were summoned by the tree-seekers. They were farmers, woodcutters, hunters, traders, who had learned Druid knowledge from their kinship elders but couldn’t make a tree bud sprout. Many of them had never even seen a real Druid, but when the tree-seekers knocked on their doors, they came.

For the unfamiliar forest ahead.

"Druid apprentices: they select good seeds, find crops suitable for the local soil, and predict the weather for the next few days based on the sky – Druids who have not been recognized by the Heart of Nature are basically experienced farmers."

[Rain-seeking Music Box]: When there is a high concentration of withering curses and Natural Aura in a certain area, this skill can stir up the surrounding natural elements, causing the two different auras to meet. As the two auras collide, warm, moist, lighter air rises above cold, dry, heavier air, causing the water vapor in the air to cool and condense into precipitation – the latter part is complete nonsense, but your logical and scientific mind seems to only be able to understand this unexplainable rain-seeking skill through high school geography.

The explanation of that skill is the principle behind how Druid apprentices summon rain and wind.

They were thrilled after the rain fell, amazed that they could actually change the weather – they did this entirely based on the guidance of the Oak Elder. The "words" on the oak leaves were the only form of tree language that apprentices could understand. The remnants of the withering curse and Natural Aura formed a special environment where a sufficient number of Druid apprentices could control the weather.

After heavy rain fell for many days, many Druid apprentices who were originally farmers became very upset. When they found out that the nearby fields were not producing due to the withering curse, all the Druid apprentices worried, discussing topics of soil erosion and landslides, continuing to strive to become official Druids.

Apart from the Druid apprentice, there were new members arriving.

After the battle that took most of the troops and resources ended, all the "circus members" causing trouble in the town were killed. The circus ringmaster Frank was truly a non-combatant, attempting to sneak away, only to die at the hands of the people whose homes he helped burn down.

"He’s just a decoy," Douglas said, "like an assistant to a magician, responsible for distracting the audience while we work."

Douglas didn’t say anything when he learned about the death of the thief.

"Loyalty? Most people are just going along with the thieves," the rider said nonchalantly, "Our boss is the thief, we work for him after signing a contract, betray and you die, you know, the usual assassin’s way, but didn’t he die?"

"Assassins!" Victor said excitedly, as if suddenly remembering the title of a song, "I remember now! This group’s organization is either the Assassins Guild or the Thieves’ Alliance, hired mercenaries taking orders, ah, truly a long-standing profession for dirty work."

Tasha thought, "Your hindsight is also very old and well-known."

"We’re just trying to make a living, I swear to God, I have no bias or hostility toward Hybrid, signed the contract against my will," Douglas said with a grimace, "Jacqueline has it worse, she’s a Hybrid, sold to the circus, had no choice from a young age. She never killed a Hybrid; she’s always been oppressed and bossed around, capturing her is like saving her!"

"Are you begging for mercy?" Tasha asked.

"I’m just stating the facts, it would be a shame for a tragic lady to die before dawn," Douglas said cunningly, "Whether to kill, slaughter, burn or cook, it’s up to you… But please, spare me and make it quick."

"Since you seek death so desperately," Tasha said, "why not tell us what you’re really searching for, instead of speaking nonsense about being helpless."

The rider’s casual tone fell silent, his mask of smiles slipping for a moment, revealing a blank expression like the ghostly figure across from him.

After a few minutes of silence, he said, "Dragon."

Douglas’ "profession" was not a thief, not a warrior, not a knight.

Giving himself a nickname like child’s play, he was a Dragonrider, a Dragon Knight.

"I know, Aryan has long lost his dragon," Douglas chuckled, "Before the war with the Orcs began, the true dragons had already departed. And the war with the Orcs destroyed all the sub-species of flying dragons. I know, I am a madman fighting windmills with a handgun."

The second biggest misfortune of Douglas’ life came from the letter he found in an abandoned underground chamber. The noble scion of the wealthy family discovered the precious legacy of their ancestor; the great Dragon Knight who once rode real dragons, whose skills could be passed down to descendants even across hundreds of years.

The greatest misfortune of Douglas’ life was his one-in-a-million talent. This young man, who had only seen flying dragons in pictures, advanced into the profession of a "Dragon Cavalry" while on horseback. On the night his profession awakened, he dreamt of flying dragons.

The boy fell deeply and hopelessly in love with the magnificent creatures in his dreams.

He left the path laid out by his parents, left his hometown, and ventured into the most dangerous places, even joining the assassins’ guild. He was like a daring hunting dog, diving into the shadows time and time again.

"I’ve heard of dungeons. If Aryan had a dragon, it would only be here, I’ve searched everywhere else. But – nothing," Douglas shrugged, leaning back against the chair, "I have no unfinished business now."

The ghost stood quietly, as if listening to something in the empty air. After a while, she shook her head.

"Maybe," she said, "if you make a contract with me, give me your soul, I might be able to conjure a dragon for you."

"Maybe? That’s quite fair," Douglas chuckled, "come on, let’s make the deal!"

Tasha received a definite answer at the moment the contract was made.

The profession of Dragon Knight, no matter what race, must be a "half-breed" – proud dragons only willing to fight alongside creatures with the blood of real dragons.