The core of the dungeon is non-renewable, non-recyclable, yet capable of devouring one another.
Tasha brought the crimson fragments back to the dungeon hall. As she neared the magic pool, the shards in her hand shot toward the suspended garnet like iron filings drawn to a magnet. The fragments clung tightly to the dungeon core, displaying a subtle color difference—the former appearing duller than the latter, like dried fruit compared to fresh berries.
At that moment, she felt an abrupt hunger, her mouth instinctively swallowing even though it contained nothing. Tasha felt as if she were holding a delicious candy in her mouth—her teeth unable to chew it, only saliva flowing abundantly. She watched the fragments cling to the dungeon core, moving slowly and rubbing against it with a faint rustling sound.
"Is that it?" Tasha asked. "I don't feel any difference."
"You can't expect to get fat overnight," Victor said. "Be satisfied. I've never seen a dungeon core acquired so easily."
Consumption took time; staring at it wouldn't speed things up. That matter could be set aside for now. With a new member joining, the dungeon had become quite busy.
The biggest problem was that Tasha couldn't heal the wounded Amazons.
When she cast Healing, the light that normally made Marion's wounds close rapidly wouldn't even reach them. The bloody lacerations didn't shrink one bit. The Amazons were oblivious to its failure—only Marion would likely be alarmed by the anomaly. But the werewolf girl had fallen into a deep, unconscious-like sleep the night the battle ended and hadn't woken yet.
"Because you don't actually know any 'healing magic,'" Victor stated.
Tasha looked at him, waiting for him to explain the details.
"What you call healing magic is a type of mana manipulation. This mana can repair dungeons and other Abyssal creations, but it's ineffective on creatures of the Material Plane—unless they belong to you. And this 'contract of employment,'" Victor deliberately used Tasha's phrasing, "only establishes a loose relationship of protection. You get what you pay for. Since they refused to become cogs in the dungeon's machine, they certainly can't expect more from you."
Marion and the Oak Elder could be considered part of the dungeon, but the agreements between the Artisan Dwarves and the Amazons were based on the Old Tree's blueprint. The terms were too lenient to claim souls, and thus, healing was impossible. This was a real problem. Tarsha had even imagined an army that could heal at will. Like a dedicated demon, she whispered into the ears of every dying soul, asking if they would trade their souls for continued existence. Whether it was to be expected or not, not a single Amazon nodded.
Victor cursed them fools, but no amount of cursing would change their minds. "A bed and clean bandages are more than enough," said a warrior still strong enough for a quip. "And a cemetery? Thanks, that's really thoughtful."
Tasha rummaged for something useful and unearthed a new building type in the corner: the "Medicinal Garden." This had also appeared after the Amazons signed the contract, remaining unlocked like the smithy when they lacked craftsmen. Back then, she'd assumed healing spells could handle it and paid little attention. Now Tasha turned her focus to the Medicinal Garden. This special area for cultivating herbs was currently unusable—it didn't require a herbalist, but seeds.
In other words, without seeds, Tasha couldn't grow herbs.
"Why be so scientific in a place like this?" Tasha grumbled inwardly. The advanced technology that could rapidly cultivate medicinal herbs in dark dungeons would have caused a sensation back home. But in this fantasy world, a herb garden useless without seeds was just as disappointing as a forge that couldn't produce anything without a craftsman. Tasha decided to consult the artisan dwarves—perhaps they knew where nearby herbs grew.
"The old man's awake!" one artisan dwarf burst in mid-conversation. "And he's sprouted leaves! Excellent! I was worried his foliage wouldn't regrow like my father's hair!"
The artisan dwarves were never idle. When no wars raged, they roamed the surface daily, making the Oak Elder a mandatory stop on every outing. Thanks to them, Tasha learned the news the moment the ancient oak stirred.
When she arrived at the spot, the craftsmen dwarves surrounding the oak had clearly been chattering for quite some time. The Old Oak dismissed the eager little dwarves and smiled at Tasha.
"They told me what's been happening," he said. "Thank you for your help. I can sense nature's gratitude toward you."
"Because humans destroyed the vegetation?" Tasha inquired.
"Because they wielded what should never be wielded," the Old Oak replied, a note of sorrow in his voice. "The damage wrought by arcane technology is far more staggering than meets the eye. Each use is a loss to Eryan. Nature cannot recover from it. I have witnessed countless battlefields transformed into deserts forever."
"How much do you know about arcane technology?" Tasha inquired again.
"Not much. I'm merely an old tree hiding in a remote corner," the Oak Elder replied. "But I can still be of some help in other matters. Are you searching for herbs?"
Tasha answered, "Seeds would work too."
The Oak Elder nodded and closed his eyes. The face on the trunk furrowed, and the sparse leaves spread out like hands reaching toward the sky.
Tasha felt the wind.
The sound of the wind grew louder as it drew nearer. Every leaf swayed in the breeze, sounding like the forest's lungs taking a deep breath. Nearby, the artisan dwarves spread their arms in the refreshing breeze. One hurriedly grabbed his hat before it blew away. He turned, pointing toward the distance and exclaiming, "Look!"
He needn't have pointed in any particular direction, for the wind blew from all around. Herbs and herb seeds, carried in the forest's breath, drifted down toward the oak tree. They settled quietly at the Old Oak's feet, piling up into a small heap.
"I am merely the keeper of Nature's Heart, capable only of such small deeds," said the Old Oak, his eyes half-open, looking drowsy. "Forgive me, but I fear I must sleep a little longer."
"My apologies," Tashar said.
She felt a touch of frustration, like a pet owner realizing they were too poor to keep their animals fed, forcing them to forage for themselves. The Old Oak chuckled softly and shook his head at Tashar.
"Don't say that. I'm glad to help a new friend," he said. "I was once the youngest in the Sacred Oak Grove. I remember those days, when I could see many friends every day. The apprentices would chat with every oak, reading the patterns in the bark, pressing leaves to their ears to catch the whispers between trees. Druids returning from distant journeys would share tales of their adventures and invite worthy companions to introduce their names to the forest."
The Old Oak's voice grew calm and distant, lost in memories long past.
When the sacred tree's fruit fell, it favored the beloved creatures. Unicorns were always favored; they often departed carrying an acorn in their mouths. Griffins soared through the canopy—these flocked creatures were perpetually mischievous, pecking everywhere, though those tamed by humans were somewhat gentler. Ravens would pose riddles to apprentices as one of the final trials for druid trainees. These clever, mischievous birds sometimes tricked children they deemed too slow-witted, but if you could outwit them in return, they would take the place of your master. They would lead you directly into the forest's labyrinth, granting you a glimpse into the heart of nature..."
The oak leaves rustled softly, and a sorrowful expression flickered in the Old Man of the Oak's nearly closed eyes. "The druids are gone," he murmured. "And we were eventually scattered. I never... never saw a druid again."
The journey from apprentice to druid required one essential step: gaining the recognition of the Heart of Nature. Without touching the Heart of Nature, even the most gifted inheritors could not become full-fledged druids, unable to understand the whispers of birds, beasts, and trees.
But if all true druids had become history, with no birds, beasts, or trees to relay messages, how could those druid inheritors separated from the Old Oak find the Heart of Nature?
They couldn't. And so, there were no more druids.
"One day, we will meet again," Tasha said suddenly. "As long as the legacy remains upon this earth, we will reunite."
The Old Oak closed his eyes, a faint smile upon his lips. Did he take her words as comfort? Tasha didn't know how he interpreted them, but she knew she wasn't offering comfort.
She was making a promise.
"You're just saying that, right?" Victor said.
His voice held a hint of tension that made Tasha want to smile. "Seems you've already figured me out," she replied.
"No, I don't know you at all," Victor said darkly. "I can't fathom what's in your head that makes you so interested in vanished Druids. Druids are a nature-worshipping sect with all kinds of races. You don't seriously think humans haven't hunted them down by now? You can barely protect yourself—how are you going to find the Druids?"
"Perhaps I can make them find me," Tasha said.
"How? Fire a 'Hey, your sacred tree is right here' fireworks into the sky? "Victor shouted. "You're like a firefly lighting up its rear end to attract mates at the bottom of the abyss—you'll get killed ten thousand times over before what you're looking for even shows up!"
"The specifics still need consideration, but I don't think hiding indefinitely is wise," Tasha replied. "Our existence can't remain concealed forever."
In truth, it might not even be a secret anymore.
The numerical disparity was too vast. Even after eliminating the commander and numerous officers, countless soldiers had escaped. Though the Dungeon hadn't made a direct appearance, the humans surely knew another alien force besides the Amazons had emerged here. Tasha harbored no illusions that they'd continue to ignore this place.
She couldn't hide forever, nor did she wish to. Her experiences thus far had taught her much—like how the damaged Dungeon's slow, self-regenerating power paled in comparison to gathering resources from the surface races.
Was it better to bury her head in the sand, waiting to suffocate in a false sense of security, or to rise and fight, risking everything? The answer was clear.
The Amazons selected immediately usable herbs, while the artisan dwarves gathered seeds at her request. They dashed into the newly constructed medicinal garden, clumsily tossing seeds into the herb beds. No herbalists were truly needed here—the magic-infused soil churned, sorting, arranging, and burying the seeds. By the next day, they would sprout into mature healing herbs, ready to be applied to the Amazons' wounds.
That day, Tasha had a dream.
She hadn't slept in ages. Neither the dungeon nor the ghosts required rest, and she cherished the time saved. But that day, Tasha suddenly felt drowsy. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she had already fallen asleep.
As the dungeon's core devoured the fragments, its soul entered a state of slumber.
Tasha saw a crowd.
She saw many people standing beneath a colossal tree, gathered around a massive leaf. The leaf resembled an oak leaf in shape, yet it was as large as a round table. Among them were tall and short, fat and thin, some with pointed ears... Tasha realized this couldn't truly be called a "crowd."
Giants, dwarves, orcs, elves, and humans stood together, alongside countless races Tasha could not name. They gathered in a blur, each hand (or claw, or hoof) clutching a pen. As the giant leaf began to glow, Tasha heard voices declare: "For Erian!"
Ah, this was the site where the Erian Oath was sworn.
Adventurers from every race had woven the threads of this alliance. Sprite dust concealed their tracks beneath the noses of angels and demons alike. Mages conjured portals, transporting allies from every corner of the world to this place. Druids provided the venue, paper, and ink. The Forest Covenant from the Sacred Tree bore witness to their resolve... All races of the earth gathered here for the survival of the planes, swearing to oppose both Hell and Heaven.
Tasha had once thought this would be a solemn occasion, and indeed, at the moment of signing, it was solemn. But when the Forest Covenant floated into the Sacred Tree, music began to play, and the banquet commenced.
Sounds erupted everywhere, transforming Erian's hall into a bustling marketplace. Exquisite pastries, blood-dripping meats, and washed leaves adorned separate tables. Guests with wolf heads, long horns, and scaled skin weaved through the open space. Here, a sharp-eared beauty danced with a minotaur; there, a halfling thief's flying daggers drew cheers. Tasha could scarcely take it all in—it resembled a temple fair, a carnival.
She saw—
A winged white horse snatch a dwarf's apple, a giant lift a wooden barrel and drink straight from it. Someone boldly shed his robe and leapt into the lake; soon, a massive fishtail broke the surface with a great splash. The robed figure chanted incantations, flicked his staff upward, conjuring a dazzling cloud of gold coins. Not far away, a drinker tossed his cup aside. Wings tore through his clothes as he transformed into a flying dragon, opening its massive jaws to swallow the cloud of gold coins whole. A ranger whistled, showing off her cheetah. Beside her, a druid grinned, shifting into another leopard to wrestle playfully with her pet. A human with a harp leapt onto a table. "Friends!" he sang out, "Allow me to present 'The Song of Bones'!"
Amid cheers and whistles, the human began: "Don't take my hat, for with it I look like a king! Don't lie on my leg bones, for my handsome legs have charmed many a girl!... Hey, friends! Don't lie on the land beside me! For—"
A great chorus of humans and non-humans roared in unison: "For! We should not die today!"
Unexpectedly, it was a song of pure joy.
Tasha couldn't make out a single face, but she could feel every smile beneath the shadows. It was an era more dangerous and chaotic than the present, yet that vibrant, surging vitality flourished magnificently.
In that moment, Tasha understood what she desired.
The Book of the Dungeon stared anxiously at the Dungeon Core. Victor, unable to contact his contractee, could only watch as the ruby heart pulsed. Tiny fragments swirled madly around it, grinding against the core before merging within. Magic was erupting, slowly fulfilling Tasha's wish without her awareness.
Like oil poured into a scorching pot, the natural essence catalyzed by magic now boiled over. A light invisible to ordinary humans, a sound, a scent—all surged skyward in this instant.
In a distant bakery, a plump middle-aged woman smashed a plate. "Oh my," she muttered, leaning out the window to gaze toward the horizon. Minutes later, she began humming a tune, packing up her belongings with a spring in her step. The bakery would close its doors for the day.
In the ruins far away, a frail boy sprinted at full speed. He pounded on a door on the verge of collapse, burst inside, and yanked his disheveled father out. The plant by their door seemed whipped by a fierce wind, every leaf pointing straight in one direction. The father stared at it, speechless for a long time.
"The sacred tree..." he said, his voice choked with emotion. "I must... we must tell everyone."