The stalemate in the north persisted, both armies locked together like two beans in a large pot, inextricably tangled. Ranged forces could no longer play their role. Most traps had fulfilled their purpose, swallowing horses and soldiers, destroying enemy heavy weapons. The mechanisms and pits were now filled with corpses. Amazon warriors darted across the battlefield, replenishing their arrows and potions from hidden supply points.
Mavis had concocted numerous potent potions before this day, and her apothecary continued churning out more. These elixirs temporarily banished fatigue, sealed wounds, and kept the weary fighting on. The dungeon transport network continuously delivered supplies crafted by artisan dwarves and elven apothecaries to the front lines. Tarsha controlled the opening and closing of several supply stations, making this subtly shifting battlefield an indispensable ally to the southeastern forces.
Within Red Gum County, the garrisoned patrol squad apprehended those causing disturbances within the city. The outsiders shed their disguises, revealing their well-trained true forms—a style not belonging to the army, but to seasoned, cunning mercenaries. These scattered individuals did not engage the patrol squad in combat; their mission was to create chaos and tie down mobile forces, resorting to any means necessary. Here, home advantage became a liability. The patrols had to pursue these criminals while simultaneously battling fires, maintaining order, calming the excessively frightened residents, and deterring those tempted to take advantage of the chaos—over half a year of coexistence hadn't convinced everyone. Some still looked northward toward the royal army, hoping to seize this opportunity to rise up.
Tasha placed a specter atop the bell tower. Her voice, channeled through the skill [Military Morale], radiated from the county's highest point, echoing throughout all of Red Eucalyptus County. The simple command—"Stay in safe places, do not go out"—appealed to the fears in most people's hearts, temporarily keeping the restless masses from causing trouble. Even those harboring dissenting thoughts lacked the resolute will to fight. If any truly emerged, the remaining patrol squad would treat them no differently than outsiders, eliminating them without exception.
Another specter materialized in the dungeon, beside the thief. Though the thief had slipped into stealth, the apparition's presence marked his location, forcing him to divert attention to counter the lurking specter. His earlier sneak attack using the [Full Moon - Wild Call] skill had failed; attempting it face-to-face now offered even less chance of success. Yet before it could be cast, its mere threat loomed far greater than its execution. As long as the specter remained, the rogue couldn't focus entirely on the artisan dwarf. Tarsan held the rogue in place, allowing the harried artisan dwarf to hasten the site preparations.
Creatures unable to assist in the dungeon were swiftly relocated deeper underground. Personnel were deployed according to the most efficient overall strategy. Jacqueline's melody still echoed through the dungeon, yet all nearby creatures susceptible to its effects had been evacuated beyond its reach. Goblins, being non-living entities, shared the same immunity to music as golems, constructs, and earthen puppets. The bard could only inspire her rider. She wouldn't play forever.
Ah Huang blended into the swarm of goblins. If Douglas regarded this group of mechanically rigid attackers as identical to the goblins, he would soon learn his mistake.
The old knight wielding his battleaxe charged toward the dungeon's core, unstoppable.
All of this unfolded simultaneously.
A true siege wasn't a series of rotations, nor a bunch of idiots attacking one by one with a cheerleading squad. Multiple battlefields unfolded simultaneously, Tasha's will clashing against the entire force. The difficulty of controlling such a vast, simultaneous operation far surpassed "drawing a square with one hand and a circle with the other." Tasha was effectively playing against several chess masters at once, engaging in dozens of strategy games simultaneously.
She hadn't lost a single one yet, nor did she intend to lose any.
Tasha recognized her own shortcomings.
Her understanding of this world remained incomplete. Past prejudices and everything she'd encountered thus far led her subconsciously to believe that alien races possessed innate extraordinary powers, while humans required tools to achieve anything. She hadn't anticipated the current situation. But that wasn't the primary issue. No one possesses a god's-eye view of the entire world. For instance, which engineer on Earth would design a bridge anticipating Godzilla stomping across it? Which police officer would include a contingency plan for "suspect suddenly transforming into a Super Saiyan and escaping" when apprehending a criminal? If such preparations were made, the backup plans would be endless, resulting only in massive resource waste.
Tasha's problem was that her plan was too "meticulous."
Tasha's plan was interlocking, with several contingency measures for different scenarios, yet the entire system was closed. Each solution addressed a single problem, lacking any margin for error. When one unexpected element spiraled out of control, the entire system was shaken. Her seemingly perfect setup demanded too much precision in execution. She needed more flexibility—room for mistakes without catastrophic consequences.
This could be a valuable lesson—provided Tashan survived the day intact.
The last remaining goblins scrambled to alter the hall's layout, attempting to add final traps. The dungeon's core was already densely packed with the craftsmanship of the artisan dwarves, isolated from the rest of the labyrinth like an impregnable floating island. Yet, watching the paladin charge toward it with overwhelming force, Tasha doubted these defenses could hold him.
The veteran knight named Alexander crushed the pendant at his waist. A burst of golden light erupted, enveloping his body. When the blinding light faded, his wrinkled face smoothed and plumped, radiating palpable vitality.
"Stop setting those traps," Victor declared, witnessing the transformation. As if crossing some threshold, he grew unnervingly calm. "Dismantle them. They're useless against a Templar burning with soulfire."
"What else can I do?" Tashar retorted sharply. "Just charge at him with my sword and fight him fair and square?"
The wolf-headed figure stood poised with her blade, sensing the earth tremble slightly as dust shook loose from above.
Thud! A collision sounded not far ahead.
"Remove the traps and salute him," Victor declared decisively. "Knights Templar are fanatically moralistic—their strength stems from that very principle. 'Dishonorable traps' will only drive them to reckless suicide attacks. You can't stop a Templar intent on taking the core down with him. Salute him, and you'll at least have a chance at a fair duel."
"What salute?" Tasha stared at the cracks appearing in the stone wall. "You plan to teach me now?"
"There's time." Victor said, as if resolving something. "Watch me!"
In the next instant, Tasha understood his meaning.
Within the link between Tasha and Victor, an amber eye suddenly opened.
She locked eyes with that colossal orb. In that single glance, something surged forth from it. Tasha felt as if she stood before a hurricane and a tsunami. The intensity of that momentary torrent rivaled—no, surpassed—the power she had encountered during her last partial inheritance from the dungeon. Where she had carefully sifted through knowledge during the previous inheritance, this time it was a one-sided deluge. A torrent of information crashed into her soul, pounding down and beginning to etch itself in.
It was an instantaneous loading of vast data—or rather, an eternity experienced in the blink of an eye. Countless images, fragments, sights, and sounds related to the Knights Templar surged into Tashan's mind.
She witnessed the Knights Templar of Salo marching in formation, observed their prayer rituals, and saw their devout training and organizational methods. Their wooden staffs concealed battle axes, spears, and warhammers—blunt weapons for mortals, sharp blades for demons. In an instant, she mastered the Templars' myriad rituals, perhaps more thoroughly than any living inheritor of their legacy. In these encounters, Tashan mostly observed from the sidelines, unnoticed by the Templars. At other times, they charged toward her, shouting the doctrines of Saro in the standard posture of those confronting evil.
The sensation of experiencing this scene firsthand felt utterly real. The first time it happened, Tashan watched the knights, enveloped in golden light raining from the sky, covering the mountains and valleys, and felt utterly unable to escape. Then, she found her body moving.
What followed was... a one-sided slaughter.
She felt the wind, felt warm droplets splattering her skin. At first, Tashar had no idea what was happening—the scene shifted too rapidly, like a camera switching too fast, shaking too violently for her to keep up. She heard screams, heard flesh hitting the ground, and only then did the tangible sensation of movement reach her mind. She found herself cutting through the ranks of Templars, shattering massive shields cloaked in holy light, tearing off the skulls of priests in the rear.
Alone, she was slaughtering an entire army of Templars and priests with her bare hands.
A low chuckle rose from her throat. She—or rather, the entity her senses clung to—even hummed a tune, an exuberantly cheerful melody.
"Oh, the Abyss," she heard herself say, her voice deep and magnetic, the end of the words trailing with a soft trill, the tone light as if it were about something entirely different. "I'm just here on vacation. Can't you lot leave me alone for a moment?"
Had that voice been less composed, more impatient, more absurdly ridiculous to distract from its quality, it would have sounded exactly like Victor's.
Tasha suddenly understood what she was reading—Victor's memories.
She also understood why Victor hadn't specifically warned her. This former Archfiend simply didn't perceive the Templars as figures requiring special vigilance. An entity who effortlessly slaughtered them in nearly every encounter, his mental inertia left him utterly unaware of the need for extreme caution. It was like a wealthy young master suddenly facing hardship—he couldn't immediately learn to be thrifty.
Tasha experienced the sensation of tearing apart a horde of Templars, even sensing what it felt like to crush the Saladin Knights beneath her body and tail (???). Amidst this flood of useless experiences, certain fragments proved remarkably relevant to the present situation.
"You'd better not lose," Victor muttered listlessly.
The presence of the Book of Dungeons weakened to an unprecedented degree, like a phone running low on battery. Tasha could barely sense it anymore. Victor seemed to absorb all the shock of this transmission. Tasha felt no headache, not even dizziness. She simply closed her eyes and absorbed a flood of information without any loss.
Tasha opened her eyes. The wall before her collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Alexander emerged through the swirling dust. He appeared in his prime, yet his hair and beard remained entirely white. The Templar's eyes swiftly locked onto the dungeon core behind Tasha. She had seen that look countless times in Victor's memories—the Templar before her cared nothing for either her life or his own, focused solely on destroying the core.
Tasha saluted him.
Her feet stood together, fingers loosely clasped, tracing the symbol of justice across her chest. She drew her blade, pausing with the edge pointing upward before rotating her wrist to level it at Alexander. This was the standard posture for a duel of honor—not part of the Salarian doctrine, yet widely practiced among paladins of all good and neutral alignments. Even as Salarian influence faded and divine magic no longer required deities, this brief ritual endured as long as they still called themselves knights.
For the honor of knighthood, for the path within your heart—will you meet me in fair combat?
The old knight's advancing stride halted abruptly. He gazed deeply at Tasha, his eyes brimming with astonishment, nostalgia, and other indescribable complexities. "I never imagined anyone else knew this," he murmured, a self-mocking chuckle escaping him. "And yet... it's a monster like you..."
Thud! Alexander's heavy boots struck heel to heel as he stepped back, planting his feet firmly. His free left hand traced the same symbol. As if sensing its master's resolve, his battleaxe hummed sharply through the air, slicing through the void with a single strike.
"Come forth, relic of a bygone age!" the old knight roared with laughter. "It is time for our final curtain call!"
The longsword pointed at the battleaxe. The last paladin, his soul fire burning brightly, and the last dungeon, fighting a desperate battle with its back against the wall, clashed in a life-or-death struggle before the dungeon's core.
No, Tashan thought. Only you shall bow out. I shall live on, long and enduring, and usher in a new age.
The flames of war ignited in the next instant.
They moved simultaneously. Alexander charged straight at Tashan like a raging battering ram. The battleaxe traced an arc through the air, its force stirring nearby dust once more. Golden light enveloped the axe head, adding invisible blades to its edge. A razor-sharp wind arrived before the weapon itself. Tasha slid sideways, deftly evading the unseen blades. The axe struck the ground at her feet, sending spiderweb-like cracks radiating several meters.
The paladin, empowered by golden light, was formidable. Tall yet exceptionally swift, he outpaced even Tasha. Her advantage lay in striking first—reacting a split second before the veteran knight could land his next blow.
The old knight wore combat boots and wielded a battleaxe, but no armor. Beneath the thin linen tunic, his muscles revealed slightly tensed contours. Tasha read him like an open book. She was no longer the novice who'd be wounded by grunts. The dungeon's omniscient perspective provided complete information, leaving no blind spots; the Amazonian techniques were now fully ingrained in Tasha's mind, like a language honed into reflex through relentless practice. Tasha passed Alexander in a sideways motion, twisting and leaping as her longsword swung toward the paladin's nape.
Clang! The craftsman-dwarf-forged blade struck Alexander's skin with a metallic ring—a flesh-and-blood form bathed in golden light producing a sound like striking metal. The hardness reverberated through the blade into Tasha's hand, making her inwardly gasp.
Without even turning his head, the paladin maintained his back-to-Tasha stance as he lunged backward. He collided with her, propelling both of them into the high wall behind him. The terrifying velocity pinned Tasha flat against his back, like a bird smashing into a car window.
Boom!
Alexander's acceleration was blindingly fast. His broad, rigid spine acted like a shield, driving the enemy into the wall. A conspicuous dent appeared in the solid stone, fragments and dust cascading from the cracks. A dull rumble echoed along the radiating fissures, carrying far into the distance. A heavily armored man might have had his bones shattered by this blow, let alone the wolf-headed woman clad only in loose-fitting garments for ease of movement. Yet Alexander frowned. He felt no solid impact from the strike and saw no trace of his opponent in his field of vision.
Not hit from behind, not from the left, right, or front... then...
The battleaxe swung upward in a sudden strike, its razor-sharp blade tipped with spear-like spikes capable of piercing any flesh. Almost simultaneously with the axe's thrust, a figure dove beneath the blade, using the momentum of its descent to launch a downward slash from midair, aiming for the old knight's eyes.
The strike was as treacherous as a venomous snake striking, exploiting the opening created by Alexander's axe swing. He could only turn his face slightly to the side as the gleaming blade sliced diagonally across the knight's cheek.
The blade in Tashan's hand measured just over half a meter in length, curved toward its edge, with the front of the blade slightly upturned—a far cry from an ordinary longsword. Crafted specifically for her by the Dwarven smiths, it was not overly heavy, combining the capabilities of both a cleaver and a thrusting weapon. Its cutting power could effortlessly sever wooden stakes clad in iron armor. Blood grooves were forged into its surface, while intricate patterns of light and shadow danced across the blade, their brilliance dizzying to the eye. Its extreme sharpness and peculiar shape created an illusion for the paladin: the blade hadn't fully extended before its upward-curved tip was already upon him.
It struck Alexander squarely in the left eye.
Golden light flared once more, forming a layer of hard, close-fitting armor just as before. But just as the paladin sought divine protection, Tashada protected herself.
The power of the dungeon infused the razor-sharp blade. While this force couldn't directly affect the paladin's body, it could amplify and diminish certain effects. The magical energy consumed the golden light, and the moment they touched, they clashed violently—like water and hot oil, like natural enemies destined for a deadly struggle. Tasha felt her magic rapidly draining, while the golden light flickered erratically within the erosion. In that fleeting moment, the blade sliced through the golden light.
Blood gushed forth, flooding the paladin's left eye. The sapphire orb shattered beyond repair, even by the finest self-healing.
Alexandros roared in agony, his battleaxe crashing down like a hurricane. His strike was even more ferocious than before. Tasha's evasion couldn't keep pace, and a fresh gash instantly appeared on her body. The axe wind sliced from her shoulder to her lower abdomen, and where the metal truly struck was even more gruesome. Several ribs snapped cleanly, the wound deep enough to expose bone. Tasha wiped the blood from her lips and sprang back up the instant she hit the ground.
Blood stained her garments crimson, but only for an instant before the flow ceased. The dungeon was her body. Here, like the child of Gaia in Greek mythology, magic surged ceaselessly into the Wolf's Head from all directions, mending her wounds and replenishing her strength. Broken bones fused rapidly, with no time to concern themselves with proper alignment. Her bleeding organs stopped, her skin healed, and Tashan had fully restored herself the instant she hit the ground.
She dodged just in time. Alexander's next strike was already upon her.
One moment the paladin was distant; the next, he charged before her eyes. It was hard to imagine such a hulking figure possessing this speed. Though he'd lost vision in one eye, his speed and power had somehow intensified. The earth itself rumbled. Had the dungeon not been such a sturdy structure, parts of it might have collapsed under the impact.
Tasha anticipated this. The Templar's Burning Soul Flame possessed this inherent trait: the greater the damage it sustained, the more intensely it burned. While this would shorten the duration of his enhanced state, it would make him stronger during that time.
Was it a miscalculation? No. For a paladin who often employed self-sacrificing tactics in the final stages, and for a dungeon whose magical reserves weren't infinite while juggling multiple battlefronts, taking calculated risks for a swift conclusion was the optimal choice.
The golden light shielding Alexander surged again after his injury, like kindling drenched in oil. It grew more vibrant yet increasingly unstable. When the paladin's speed reached this threshold, when muscle memory could no longer keep pace with Tarsha's reflexes, it was time to deploy another lesson.
The one Victor had just taught her.
Alexander was startled to find the enemy's speed increasing in tandem.
Perhaps it wasn't an increase in speed, but merely a reduction in the need to evade. The paladin found each of his attacks growing uncomfortably sluggish, like moving through mud. Every swing carried a frustrating sense of being held back, unable to unleash his full power. The golden light could counteract forces acting upon him, so it wasn't some spell trapping him in this state—it was the enemy herself.
Tasha was dodging by staying close to him.
Like a fish swimming through water, her movements were utterly elusive, hovering mere centimeters from the paladin's body as she darted up and down, left and right. The battleaxe was a long-handled weapon, difficult to wield effectively at such close quarters. Yet Tasha was like an elusive loach, or a bee circling a giant bear. She lingered in the most perilous zones, where her close-range, micro-maneuvers amplified her evasion efficiency. Simultaneously, her blade's trajectory became utterly unpredictable—never locking with the axe, merely grazing it before breaking contact. The oddly curved blade didn't block; it dodged the axe's edge, deflected Alexander's force, and at critical moments, a single flick redirected his power entirely.
Beyond the cheat of directly acquiring skills through contracts, no learning method proved more efficient than that transmission. An Amazon could teach Tashar a martial technique step-by-step, but Victor had granted her access to his memories, allowing her to inhabit his body. Within it, Tashar repeatedly experienced the posture, timing, and force required to execute this technique. She learned, she felt, and unlike skills gained directly, Tasha truly mastered it.
This was a combat tactic learned from Victor's "game"—one he'd used to toy with a Templar Knight, wearing the opponent down to death like a predator playing with its prey. He'd done it out of sheer boredom, but for Tasha—devoid of magic, lacking his brute strength and devastating attacks—mastering this evasion could mean the difference between life and death.
Her mind was intensely focused, draining her physical stamina rapidly. The mana required to replenish that energy burned away just as fast. But the paladin was even less patient. As the golden light grew increasingly erratic, Alexander—frustrated by his inability to land a blow or exert full force—finally lost his temper.
The battleaxe swung back, striking the paladin himself. The wound was far worse than the one Tasha had suffered earlier, a gaping gash across Alexander's chest, deep enough to reveal his entrails.
The paladin accelerated for a second time, moving so fast it was nearly impossible to track with the naked eye.
Tasha was finally sent flying. She couldn't dodge the battleaxe entirely; a desperate evasion shifted the blow to her left shoulder. This time, the axe didn't pierce her, but the excruciating pain made her vision darken. Not far away, her left hand had just hit the ground.
A shoulder-high slash severed Tashan's left arm.
Magic swiftly patched the massive wound, smoothing the area that would normally take ages to heal. Yet while skin covered the gash, the limb itself did not regrow. Tashan staggered as she scrambled to her feet, the loss of her left arm making balance elusive.
Alexander narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.
The next instant, Tasha crashed back to the ground. Rolling desperately, she barely dodged another vicious swing. The paladin's attacks came like a torrent, leaving her no chance to recover.
In a single second, the battleaxe and longsword clashed countless times. Had their weapons not been protected by their respective wielders' strength, the relentless impact would have shattered mortal steel into countless shards. Tasha clenched her teeth, feeling her magic rapidly drain. She held on, watching the golden light flicker more violently until...
Until the storm of clashing weapons abruptly ceased. With a sharp crack, the longsword shattered. The battleaxe swung down, cleanly severing her head.
The wolf skull rolled several meters with its momentum, the monstrous head motionless.
Alexander sheathed his battleaxe, rising with labored breaths. Despite the golden light's protection, the exhaustion and pain from the fierce struggle left him drenched in sweat. The golden light flickered unsteadily. The old knight felt cold rising from his limbs, directed at the pack of jackals watching the traveler, waiting only for the campfire to die before charging.
"You were a worthy opponent," Alexander said, tracing a sign of rest upon his chest. He nodded toward the corpse, dragging his increasingly heavy steps toward the crimson heart ahead.
It was already close to the paladin. Once he stepped onto the platform, only a few paces remained. As his foot touched the edge of the step, a volley of small arrows suddenly shot up from the floor. Alexander frowned and sidestepped backward.
That was the instant his focus wavered.
His vision shot upward as his body grew both light and heavy. The old knight's mouth fell open in shock. His head spun midair, turning to see the headless torso that had severed him.
A one-in-a-million undead talent: nullifying the head as a vital point.
[Full Moon - Wild Call] grants you three seconds of unstoppable claws.
Tasha's arm could actually regrow—she only needed to retrieve the severed limb and place it on her wound. She sacrificed her left hand to trick the paladin into believing she could only heal wounds, not regrow limbs.
If severed arms cannot be reattached, then decapitation must be foolproof, right?
A paladin, drained by prolonged combat and the waning effects of Soulfire, lowered his guard against an enemy whose weapon shattered and whose head was severed.
Tasha won.