Without a doubt, Tasha had transmigrated.
Before her lay an extremely dim hall—windowless, with all four passageways blocked by collapsed earth and rock. Not a single candle illuminated the interior, yet Tasha could discern every corner within the shadows, every grain of dust. She could even discern the color of the floor tiles beneath her feet. Everything within the hall was perfectly clear to her, including the sections buried beneath collapsed columns.
One word in the above passage was slightly off.
"Before her eyes."
There was no "before her eyes." Tasha had been staring straight ahead at the hall for at least three or four minutes, without the slightest urge to blink. She felt neither her eyelids nor her eyeballs.
To be precise, she felt nothing in her entire body.
Then how did she see?
Tasha had a strange sensation—as if she possessed an "omniscient viewpoint" within this hall, like playing The Sims without the physical body outside the computer controlling the perspective. She held an all-seeing gaze, yet knew not where she observed from.
Tasha remembered clearly that she was dead. Car accident. No grudges or vendettas—just plain bad luck. In her final moments, she'd tragically glimpsed her own mangled torso half a meter away, a gruesome sight with no chance of survival by modern medicine. Her current situation could only be explained by pre-death hallucinations, alien abduction, or time travel—any of which was preferable to ending up a pile of rotting flesh. Tasha briefly mourned the friends she'd likely never see again—a cat, a dog, an aquarium, a few potted plants—then composed herself and focused on her current predicament.
Tasha felt no connection to her body, yet she could still "see." She wasn't sure if she could hear—it was too quiet. The entire space she perceived seemed confined to this dust-sealed hall. She could vaguely make out ornate carvings, but they appeared shattered beyond repair, as if struck by an earthquake and then buried.
The hall was vast, nearly the size of a museum's main gallery, devoid of any decoration or furnishings. Only a dried-up stone pool stood in the center, split by a massive crack. Several columns lay toppled on the floor, looking as if they might shatter at the slightest touch. Fortunately, the thickest columns at the four corners remained largely intact. It was likely thanks to them that the hall hadn't collapsed.
Tasha examined the hall meticulously, finding no skeletal remains, no living creatures—not even a single insect. Thank goodness, she thought, for she wasn't ready to accept arthropods crawling over her new body. The hall felt as if it were encased in a cocoon of earth and stone, sealed off from the outside world. Nothing from outside could enter, and Tasha's senses couldn't reach out either.
Something flickered at the pool's bottom.
In hindsight, it wasn't a flash at all, but some kind of "sensation" drawing attention—like a whirlpool forming underwater, impossible to resist drifting toward. Tasha instinctively looked that way, and instantly it felt like stepping into thin air. The consciousness that had spread throughout the entire structure abruptly contracted, pouring into a stone at the pool's bottom.
It felt like being buried by a mudslide—total darkness, utterly immobilized, suffocating pressure surging from every direction. Startled, she struggled violently.
These were the longest minutes Tasha had ever endured. Like a snake struggling to awaken from hibernation beneath a hawk's shadow, she summoned every ounce of her spirit, striving to regain control of her unresponsive body. Her soul's flame blazed fiercely under the intense will to survive. The luminous mist within the stone surged violently, pounding relentlessly against the gray, hard walls of her prison until visible rays of light pierced through. Sand and dust around the stone settled with a rustle as she struggled. The stone, now stripped of its outer layer like a bloodstone, shed its heavy blackness, transforming into a brilliant crimson. From the dust emerged a dazzling pomegranate seed, which floated up, swaying gently.
As if a fool had suddenly gained wisdom, or an infant discovered its own feet, Tasha abruptly became aware of her very form of existence. She gradually learned to manipulate her soul, just as she had once controlled her body—a concept that sounded mystical, yet proved surprisingly simple in practice, akin to pouring water from one cup into another.
Turning within the gem, she saw four patterns etched around the pool's perimeter. Though merely abstract lines, their symbolism struck her instantly: one flame, one flowing water, one earth, one air current. They occupied the cardinal directions with precise, inexplicable harmony—so otherworldly they stirred Tashan's soul merely to gaze upon them. She felt a calling, a sense of belonging, as if she'd spotted a signpost in an endless labyrinth. Tashan held her breath, staring at them, waiting.
Then...
Then nothing happened.
Ruby rose feebly half a foot into the air, hovering silently there. The surroundings remained deathly quiet, not a single candle lit—like an opening animation that froze mid-scene after a glitch. Tashan floated awkwardly above the ruins of a pond in an abandoned building, utterly clueless about what to do next.
To make matters worse, she suddenly felt hungry.
The hunger hit her like a bolt from the blue. In an instant, Tasha felt she could devour a whole calf. She reached for her pocket, quickly realizing both her hand and the pocket were figments of her imagination—like her blinking and breathing, merely illusions creating the illusion of normality, utterly useless. Seriously? She didn't even have a stomach—why was she so hungry?
Tasha imagined a lavish feast, trying to trick her non-existent stomach. But picturing a full banquet only made her hunger grow until her eyes burned red. She tried everything—praying to the heavens, practicing all sorts of charlatan methods from movies, novels, and games—but nothing worked. Finally, Tashan grew restless—and no wonder, for someone starving to this extent might do anything—she resorted to her old tactic, violently pounding the surrounding barriers, continuing even as the pain intensified.
A tiny crack appeared on the gemstone, followed by another. The two cracks merged, and a fragment the size of a grain of sand fell out, rolling onto the "Earth" rune.
That tiny fragment instantly melted, transforming into a halo of light that merged into the rune. Tasha paused and looked over, finding the scene resembled gilding. The Earth rune, once merely indented, now radiated a vivid crimson glow. From the first stroke's beginning to the last stroke's end, as every corner of the groove filled, it erupted in a sudden burst of amber light.
The radiance swept across every corner of the hall, accompanied by a distant, rumbling roar. Tasha freed herself from the gem. The previously impenetrable invisible barrier now allowed her to come and go as she pleased. She sensed something within the golden light—an ancient presence, though she hadn't yet seen it. Out of some premonition, no, out of a protagonist's confidence, Tasha knew what kind of creature it would be.
Should it even be called a creature?
It possessed claws that spanned a third of its entire body, rendering the hardest rock as soft as tofu before them. It had no flesh and blood; elements formed its very being, indistinguishable from skin or bone. It roamed the underground, finding its paradise in the pitch-black, narrow tunnels. Fragmented, blurred fragments of awareness surfaced in Tasha's mind—not premonitions, but memories. In that instant, she understood clearly: this creature had been summoned by her, a guardian obtained through sacrifice, the most loyal and reliable sentinel, an extension of her own limbs and consciousness. Tasha sensed that, in her current state, she could only attempt this once.
The golden light slowly faded, Tasha's breathing grew ragged. Countless legendary monsters flashed through her mind, anticipation and dread reaching their peak. The golden light vanished! Standing upon the earth rune was... well...
It did possess sharp claws, its earth-toned body composed of elements. It clearly feared no darkness; with its tiny, beady eyes, it certainly didn't rely on sight for survival. Then there was its pointed nose and whiskers, now quivering in the air as it sniffed about. No bulging muscles signaled strength, nor any hint of lightness or agility. Its body was, in fact... quite round.
In other words, fat.
If it weren't Tashan's only helper, she might have called it cute.
Yet this was the sole guardian Tashan could muster at this stage—the savior she'd pinned her hopes on to escape this predicament.
Oh God, Tasha thought in despair, what good is a mole to me?!...
The senior officers gathered around the long table wore grim expressions.
The device still glowed, its red light blinding like sunlight. None present had ever seen it shine so brightly. If the prophecy held true, perhaps it hadn't radiated such intensity in four hundred years.
Across every corner of the Erian Empire, diviners were deemed fallen, anti-human, and sinners who had consorted with demons. Yet at the empire's very heart, descendants of prophets still foretold the future for the upper echelons in exchange for their families' survival—a practice tacitly permitted among high-ranking officers. Just half a year ago, diviners from various families had begun making similar prophecies.
The prophecy declared: An ancient underground city capable of connecting to the Abyss, summoning a great demon, was about to awaken.
The torch-like device on the table was an "Abyss Factor Detector." It could detect Abyss factors within the empire's borders—such as the awakened bloodlines of Abyss descendants, remnants of mages who opened tiny fissures, and the like. In the prosperous present of the human empire, Erian, its sole expectation was utter darkness—so that officers who had devoted themselves to human prosperity need not waste another ounce of energy on this mess. Yet now it glowed, so brightly that unless a dungeon had awakened, a great demon must have already crawled to the surface.
In the fourth century since the Abyss's passage to the surface was severed, the latter scenario was utterly impossible.
Finally, someone broke the silence.
"This is nothing to fear," declared the youngest officer. "Centuries ago we destroyed countless dungeons. Destroying this one is certainly within our power now."
His words drew nods of agreement, but the goateed officer across from him frowned and countered, "This is not centuries ago, General Syril. Our cities stretch far and wide. Have you considered the devastation a war against a single dungeon would cause?"
"Cities can be rebuilt, but evil cannot be tolerated!" the young general retorted. "Or has General Norman forgotten how to wage war?"
"The wise do not rush to speak. I believe General Sirel still needs more experience," the elder officer remarked pointedly.
"I—"
"It's gratifying to see such enthusiasm, but we have little time for arguments."
A raised hand halted Cyril's retort. The leader swept his gaze across the assembled officers until every head bowed in respect.
"Demons and gods have long departed. Who could possibly create new dungeons? Until we restore our former glory, they remain nothing but decaying relics from the last era. General Cyril, you won't give them a chance to revive, correct?" The Supreme Leader nodded at the young officer's assurance, his expression serene as he delivered his final verdict. "Then I wish this matter closed."
The leader rose to his feet, and all the officers followed suit. "Long live the Lord of Erian! May the Erian Empire endure for eternity!" they chanted in unison. After the ceremony concluded, these elites who held the lifeblood of Erian in their hands departed the hall one by one, each harboring their own thoughts.