Chapter 56

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Chapter 56: Shadow

The upgraded dungeon was like a stronger body, more powerful, with greater lung capacity and better vision. The limit on the number of ghosts was not lifted, but the range they could go to expanded significantly. Since the completion of evolution, Tasha had directed the ghosts towards the human gathering place beyond the defense line. She saw her first human city, and was amazed by the bustling life of Ribe Lake city.

Tasha had never seen such a big city before. When she looked at Ribe Lake with a modern perspective, she thought the city was old-fashioned and behind compared to the small towns she knew. This changed Tasha’s view of the time period Aryan was living in.

At night, all the streets were lit up with lamps fueled by animal fat, making the city glow brightly. Carriages moved back and forth on the wide and well-connected roads. A river named Ribe River flowed through the city, with a water plant supplying water to the whole city. Some factories used the power of water for their machines due to the rapid flow of the river downstream.

This city was not industrialized like others, lacking coal mines, oil, and related industries. The inefficiency in water usage made it difficult for factories to replace human labor. The manufacturing machinery was not very efficient, expensive, and not accessible to the common people. Tasha saw scenes from the 15th to the 18th century, realizing that relating human eras from Earth to this world was meaningless.

The residents of Ribe Lake had a higher literacy rate. Schools were not only for wealthy people who wanted to enter the military or government systems but also for factories to educate literate workers. The education used nationwide textbooks praising humanity, the military, and war. Almost half of the factories produced military goods, with the tallest building in Ribe Lake being a military facility. The bright lights of the military facility resembled a beacon, much brighter and stable than the lamps fueled by animal fat, emitting no odor. The lamps were similar to gas lamps from the 18th century on Earth. Without coal mines, what fuel could power gas lamps in this world? Perhaps the inscriptions that were hard to see provided a clue.

Aryan’s unique situation carried a familiar scent from Earth’s recent history, as if the military owned the nation rather than the other way around.

Ribe Lake was just one city, and the entire military-industrial complex of Aryan was much larger, with higher production capacity, military strength, and readiness for war. The current dungeon, trying to challenge the entire human empire with a few dragons, was like hitting a rock with an egg.

However, was the dungeon doomed to lose?

After observing the city, its residents, educational materials, and some key figures, Tasha could confidently answer: No, it wasn’t.

While the war machines built with the resources of an entire nation were terrifying, they could not last forever. Without enemies, where could the fueled anger be directed? Whom could the sharp knives target? From where could the depleted resources be restored? The collective enthusiasm would eventually wear out. When Tasha arrived in this era, people were already getting tired.

The people of Aryan kicked out the evil spirits, destroyed dwarfs, defeated Orcs, and have been unbeatable in the past century, with scattered tribes struggling to survive under their pursuit. The textbooks vaguely mention recent "internal conflicts" in highly embellished language, illustrating how the invincible empire consumed its surplus battle power.

Aryan, shining brightly, was approaching a crossroads, not knowing where this path would lead. Perhaps all the parts that do not fit into the historical process will gradually be corrected after the disappearance of people and things from the last era.

However, Tasha arrived.

The ghost carefully screened through each member of the houses, observing attentively. Colonel Benson was a hardliner, the governor a tricky old fox. The generals above each had their own positions, the governor’s camp could be considered hawks, and the double-faced spy Osmund, who was not necessarily a dove, was eager to compete with the hawks for power and profit. Colonel Robert had a fire burning inside him, and despite repeatedly making concessions, he still had the ability to stabilize the situation, thanks to Aryan’s promotion of the military tradition. The governor’s deputy was deeply trusted, his desire for the governor’s political resources outweighed any sense of gratitude.

The enemy of the enemy may not be a friend, but anger and ambition undoubtedly were Tasha’s friends.

Colonel Robert first accepted her olive branch, having no qualms about betraying others’ interests, and just like Tasha, he needed time. This involved some power struggles, exchanges of interests, personal grievances, and after a brief trial, they quickly came to an agreement.

Osmund was one of the key pieces, stationed in the capital as another probe for Tasmarin, Tasha needed him to continue conveying a facade of normalcy. Even if Osmund did not personally kill the governor, the blame would inevitably fall on him, this slippery character was hard to entice, better to intimidate. Colonel Benson disappeared the same day he was arrested, causing Osmund to lose sleep that night. The eyewitness of "Osmund killing the governor" would be kept for a long time as evidence of Osmund’s betrayal, becoming a threat hanging over his head.

Once the die was cast, persuading the deputy was relatively easy. He had countless reasons to convince himself to endure humiliation, deceive the hateful enemy, and, incidentally – truly incidentally, against his will – deceive and temporarily take the place of the governor. This was easy, as he had ghostwritten for the governor many times. The mayor of Ribe Lake was a talent in domestic affairs, skilled at changing his stance with the wind, not adept at brave and cunning last-minute attacks. He would respectfully treat any superior, regardless of who they were.

Are these people loyal to Tasha?

Loyalty is a joke. There are many people who do not have good intentions towards Tasha. They are not qualified to sign a contract and make promises by selling their soul. But on Earth without contracts, numerous compelling agreements are still successfully completed.

These people have their own goals and are not on the same page, which is perfect. They can counterbalance each other, monitor each other, create a deadlock where no one can move, and Tasha can step out of the game. She doesn’t need to constantly push these people with a whip; their own ambitions and fears limit them. When the cost of betrayal is greater than loyalty, and staying silent brings more benefits than speaking out, why take a more difficult, dangerous, and less beneficial path?

Seeking benefits and avoiding harm is human nature. The people Tasha has chosen are not idealists.

That’s enough.

Tasmania is different from the southeast corner. For a faction with few members and vast underground space, the southeast corner is sufficient as a base. What’s the point of occupying more land? Any minority group that conquers large territories will be overwhelmed by endless resistance and lack the ability to digest, manage, and develop new territories. Instead of laboriously occupying land, scattering inefficient managers or worrying about the loyalty of existing administrators would be more troublesome. It’s better to keep things as they are and only go there when needed.

Tasha is not greedy. She knows very well that breaking free from constraints and buying time are the most important things.

She successfully obtained them.

——————————

Ribe Lake is a thriving city.

Many small towns around support the prosperous capital city of Aryan in the south, where the Governor’s mansion of Tasmanian is located. Every day, numerous horse-drawn carriages come and go, carrying goods ordered by merchants, visitors, and returning travelers. The night is even more exciting, with whale oil street lamps illuminating the never-sleeping city. While the folks in the small towns start their day at sunrise and rest at sunset, the aristocrats dress up and frequent many nightclubs.

This city is the most suitable for the nobility in Tasmanian. The Colonel stationed here is always reserved, not joining the entertainments of the gentlemen and ladies, unlike some boring strict military men. The Governor is the master here, and people only think of the military when paying military taxes, making the atmosphere in Ribe Lake more relaxed than elsewhere. Various salons welcome people from all over Aryan who want to have fun (and are quite wealthy), and half of the owners boast of having entertained distinguished guests from the capital, some of which may not be lying.

The common people in the capital also have a high self-esteem, but anyone who cannot enter that top privileged circle must admit one thing – the closer to the center of Aryan, the more pleasure gives way to the military, and even the wealthy individuals need to behave modestly. In olden terms, it is said, "Ten thousand pieces of gold are still less than the vastness of the sky and the distance of the emperor" – of course, this is just a metaphor, as Aryan no longer has an emperor.

The revelers returning would describe Ribe Lake like this: the magnificent grand theater still shining brightly in the deepest of nights, the gold-leafed reliefs coming to life under the lights, opera singers interpreting joys and sorrows on the stage. The generous and tasteful hosts hold grand banquets, where the silver candlesticks reflect the rich and varied foods on the long table, bouquets of flowers freshly picked that morning by gardeners and swiftly brought to the city on fast horses. In the huge dance floor, elegantly dressed nobles dance gracefully, their masks covering half their faces, revealing only their alluring lips. Here, with its colorful lights and luxurious atmosphere, you can find anything you desire.

But even in such a brilliant and splendid city, there are shadows beneath the lights.

Like here.

Lame Leg Street has a very disreputable name, reportedly named after a group of lame individuals who once lived there. There is a rumor that initially, this place was used to accommodate some war veterans who had been injured, and Aryan generously gifted this land to them. The credibility of this legend is not high, and another explanation seems more convincing: any wealthy passerby (the literal meaning here, someone with money and not dressed shabbily) who enters here unprepared may leave limping.

It is located in the shadow cast by the group of factories, with a batch of abandoned buildings from years past on the verge of collapse, ready to crumble any moment, never seeing the sunlight. The sewage from the factories is discharged into this area, and many residents do not care whether they bathe or drink from this free water source. This place is inhabited by a large group of individuals known as the dregs of Ribe Lake – gamblers, vagrants, hooligans, struggling artists, disabled, drunks, criminals… many people have multiple identities listed above. They survive tenaciously like cockroaches and fleas, born alongside the glorious side of Ribe Lake, and perhaps destined to live together until the end of the world.

Missing Teeth Larry walked out of his doghouse, scratching his itchy belly. He had just gone through a normal day, eating half-full, fighting a couple of people, being beaten by several, and not being killed by anyone – a perfect day. He poured water at the street corner and was about to head back when his steps suddenly stopped.

He saw a stranger.

The stranger wore nice clothes made of sturdy fabric – Spike could tell it was good quality that could withstand dirt and wear. Whether he wore it himself or sold it, it would bring in a good profit. The person wore a stylish wide-brimmed hat and cowboy boots with jingling metal spurs, making a loud noise as he walked, as if announcing his presence on Lame Leg Street. Larry observed for a few seconds and didn’t see any weapons on him, so why be polite?

A fat lamb that comes to you must be slaughtered before it goes to others. Larry picked up a wooden stick, sneaked up behind the foolish stranger. He held his breath, quickened his pace, approached from behind, raised the stick high, and swung it with force.

Bang! The sound of the wooden stick.

Click! The sound of bones.

Missing Teeth Larry let out a howl, swung the stick with full force against the wall. What just happened? The fat lamb dressed as a peacock dodged easily, agile as a swallow. The cowboy boots lightly hooked on Larry, causing the stick to swing empty and hit the wall, twisting Larry’s waist in the process.

"Oh, friend!" The fat lamb laughed behind Larry, "It’s our first meeting, why be so formal?"

Cursing, Larry stood up, holding his aching waist, and punched the stranger. Being a street fighter had its perks – when injuries were common, pain became a habit and bearable. The accumulation of wounds might shorten their lives, but that was another matter – they wouldn’t live that long anyway. Larry desperately wanted to pummel that punchable face, his hands with brass knuckles viciously hitting the stranger’s face, but once again missing.

"Is Spike, that old dog, okay?" He even managed to ask lightly amidst the dodging, "He hasn’t shown up yet, has he died?"

Larry didn’t care what he was saying, Spike, also known as "Headless Spike," was a figure around here. Some thugs wanted to be his lackeys, while others dreamed of replacing him. He had been one of the leaders in Lame Leg Street for quite some time, even the lowest thugs had heard of him. Larry had seen many people boastfully using Spike’s name as a talisman, pretending to know Spike, these fools never had a good ending. Larry punched, and punched, until he couldn’t punch anymore.

The fat sheep threw out the rope from his waist, the loop instantly caught Larry, not his arm, but his neck. It tightened as soon as it caught him, pulling him forward. His boot kicked his knees as he lost balance, causing Larry to kneel down and be dragged forward – darn, this guy’s strength was frightening! The fat sheep’s arm pressed against his shoulder, smiling brightly as he tightened the rope.

"Calm down, friend, you’re not very friendly." The newcomer looked like he was in distress, "Don’t you recognize me? A few years ago, my posters covered Ribe Lake, I bet you’ve seen one or two, Dragonrider…"

"Douglas," an old voice interrupted, "What are you here for?"

This was certainly not Missing Teeth Larry’s voice, his face turned purple in the rope, he couldn’t even say a word, let alone catch his breath. A person walked out from the shadows of the alley, with short black hair, and a long thin face with various scars. This person’s voice sounded twenty years older than his face (the huge scar on his throat could tell something), his face may have looked ten years older than his actual age, the muscles under his short sleeves still strong, like an experienced and not completely old lynx.

The alley was crowded with people unknowingly, and the lynx’s pack scrutinized the newcomer.

Larry was released, he gasped for air, unable to get up. The newcomer called Douglas helped him up, patting Larry’s back kindly, as if just helping him up from a fall, rather than choking him half to death.

"Good evening, Spike!" Douglas said warmly, "I’m so glad to see you still lively and jumping around!"

When Larry calmed his cough and could look back at the conflict, Douglas had already walked towards Spike. He put away the rope, strolling leisurely over there, even opening his arms as if to give a hug to the grim-faced thug leader. What a fool! Larry cursed in his heart, ready to watch Spike teach this arrogant newcomer a lesson.

He watched eagerly as the distance between them closed to zero, and Douglas hugged Spike, who smirked.

Hugged Douglas back.

Both of them laughed and slapped each other’s backs loudly. Larry looked confused and scared to see that Spike’s henchmen didn’t seem surprised, and even laughed a little.

"You’re lucky you haven’t gotten yourself killed yet," Spike rasped, "Where’s your horse?"

"Ran off with a young girl!" Douglas shrugged, looking helpless, "The new horse was too fancy, scaring the birds and flowers. I had to walk back on foot."

Spike chuckled disdainfully, clearly not trusting his words. Important figures from Lame Leg Street left with the outsider. One of Spike’s henchmen impatiently kicked Larry, asking for his name. Larry unexpectedly struck gold, going from a wandering thug to one of Spike’s underlings.

He learned the outsider’s identity from others, a famous performer from a circus with exceptional skills. "But he’s not one of us, an outsider," Larry muttered. The elder he was talking to chuckled and said, "He can be one of any side, this guy is well-connected."

In the following days, Larry realized this.

Douglas wore fine clothes but didn’t mind sitting on the same stool with the dirtiest and most frightening individuals. He could tell exotic tales from afar and understand local slang and jokes. He dove into the only pub in Lame Leg Street, chatting lively with people at the greasy bar, easily capturing onlookers’ attention, downing many cups of cheap alcohol without getting drunk. He beat everyone in arm wrestling, "Ah, new record! I didn’t know I was this good!" he joked, using it as an excuse to buy everyone a drink.

Douglas was kind in a balanced way, carefully distinguishing between being friendly and being taken advantage of. He was well-liked among the trash in Lame Leg Street, and respected by important figures, even the unruly Spike considered him a friend. It seemed like he had a natural ability to get along with people from all walks of life, even Larry, who almost lost his temper with him, ended up not disliking him anymore. Douglas was definitely the most interesting person in this list of almost causing harm to Larry.

After wandering around for about a week, one day, Douglas jumped onto a table at the most lively time in the tavern, picked up a glass that the bartender was constantly wiping, and tapped it. The customers at the tavern turned their heads at the sound, and he began speaking in front of the crowd.

"Gentlemen, ladies, and all the folks in between!" he said in a smooth tone, taking off his hat and bowing amidst laughter, "In these wonderful days gone by, I have formed a deep friendship with all of you here, and to show my gratitude for your care, I am willing to share a path to riches!"

Speaking in an exaggerated, half-serious tone, fueled by alcohol and the atmosphere, the crowd laughed along, with someone chiming in, "Tell us, Dragonrider Douglas!"

"Smuggling," Douglas said, and then pretended to be scared as he covered his mouth, "I mean, transporting some harmless goods through unofficial channels, earning a little commission that the authorities wouldn’t care about, no harm done, right? They don’t need to know everything."

"That’s right!" the crowd enthusiastically agreed.

However, someone truly thinking about the issue asked, "But where do we get the goods? We don’t have a carriage, and there’s nothing profitable around here. Are we supposed to walk up north to transport them?"

"You do use your legs, but it’s pretty close," Douglas said amidst the audience’s murmurs, "I didn’t say north, I said south, southeast."

The tavern quieted down a bit as people whispered and exchanged glances. The riffraff from Ribe Lake resided in Lame Leg Street, and they were privy to more underground information than the average citizens of Ribe Lake – many easily overlooked the intelligence traders rummaging through trash bins on the streets. These people had heard about a conflict in the southeast corner a few months ago, some said there was a plague, others mentioned Hybrids, but overall, Aryan’s army didn’t benefit from it.

"No, no, no," Douglas wiggled his finger mysteriously and said, "There, there is a gold mine."

People made disbelieving noises.

"It’s true, although not literally," Douglas tapped his heel on the table, "That place has been blocked for over half a year, many people already know, right? The army found the Hybrid, and there has been back and forth fighting between Hybrid and the army. Lately, no one can defeat the other, learning to pretend not to see each other. The original order in the southeast has turned into a mess, the blockade has caused a shortage of some goods that are a dime a dozen here, but Hybrid’s new inventions are everywhere, like a potion that can stop bleeding, plant one seed and harvest a bag of seeds, haha, maybe even find a potion that makes you invincible!"

Some people smirked slyly while others seemed half doubtful.

"Who knows if what you’re saying is true or false?"

"How can you guarantee that?"

"Why are you telling us this?"

A bunch of questions were thrown at Douglas, and he looked calm, just clapped his hands to signal everyone to listen to him. "I have access, but I can’t do it alone," he said, "As for guarantee? I can’t guarantee."

This time the noise was louder than before. Douglas smiled and remained silent. When the wave of doubts subsided, he raised his voice again.

"I can’t guarantee anything, but I can take anyone willing to go with me," he said. "There might be disease, Hybrid creatures that eat people, and maybe even a gold mine waiting to be discovered, a virgin land waiting to be claimed! I won’t make any promises, why should I bother to give away wealth? Opportunities and money favor the brave, scorn the cowards! Why did I come here to tell you all in Lame Leg Street? Even if you don’t risk your lives in a game-changing gamble, where else will you end up dying?"

His voice was sharp and ruthless yet filled with passion, surprisingly quite appealing to the residents of Lame Leg Street.