A pair of yellow eyes appeared in the darkness.
That faint, icy light suddenly tore through the chaos, and the scene expanded outward from that focal point. The narrow, elongated eyes were set in a non-human head; their owner had dark, metallic-looking skin, curved horns, and a handsome face. First came this figure, then the entire scene. The demon lord Victor flashed into view in the dim passageway. His tailcoat was torn in several places, and large splatters of bright red blood covered the fine fabric, making the aura of intimidation he exuded even more intense.
Demon blood isn't this color.
He licked the blood that had splattered onto the corner of his mouth; his cracked tongue flickered in the air like a serpent's. He pulled a handkerchief from his tuxedo pocket, wiped the blood and brain matter from his hands, tossed it aside, and kept walking. Rounding a corner, the lights ahead brightened, and the hall came into view.
The hall, as vast as half a square, was resplendent in gold and brilliantly lit. Layered vaulted arches receded into the distance, and exquisite relief carvings adorned the expansive space with perfect balance. Many slender, ivory-white columns converged into a single massive pillar, adorned with velvet drapes that made the dome appear even more soaring. The floor tiles were as vibrant as a cathedral's rose window, and a long red carpet stretched from beneath Victor's feet all the way to the pool at the hall's center. The indoor pond, brimming with blue droplets, was flawless and radiant with magic; a massive red ore floated suspended above its surface.
It was a flawless, exquisite, and artistic structure; were it not for that living, pulsating ore heart, an observer might mistake this place for the hall of a mortal noble.
The crimson ore heart pulsed beneath the ceiling, identical in form to the Heart of the Dungeon in Tarsand, yet the atmosphere was entirely different—it appeared far more savage and ferocious. This heart hung high beneath the ceiling, filled with a frenzied desire for destruction, as if someone had carved out a piece of the Abyss and placed it inside.
This is the Abyss Outpost, a true dungeon.
"What are you dawdling for?" an impatient voice rang out.
When Victor entered the hall, another figure was already there—or, to be precise, another demon. Where its head should have been was only a cloud of white mist; beneath its ragged, tattered robes, its lower body was empty, devoid of legs, while its cuffs revealed a pair of bony hands with far more joints than a normal human's. Its tone was brimming with impatience as it drifted back and forth before the demonic pool; even without seeing the demon's expression, an observer could easily sense its agitation.
"Sorry, sorry, someone's blocking the way," Victor said, his tone of apology too light and his smile too cheerful to be taken seriously. " "You know, our kind moves too fast; quite a few mortals have already caught on…"
"Enough!" the headless demon cut him off. "What about what you promised me?"
"I'm just about to get started," Victor agreed readily. "Don't worry, dear Ake. My preparations are foolproof; I just need to take one final step."
He climbed the steps, passed the Headless Demon, and stepped into the Demon Pool. His exquisitely tailored but blood-stained boots easily touched the glistening blue water, as if treading on a sheet of solid ice; the liquid beneath his feet didn't even ripple. The yellow-eyed demon lord strode to the center of the pool, coming to a halt directly beneath the dungeon's core.
Victor tapped his heel lightly.
The surface of the pool, which had been as smooth as a mirror moments before, suddenly rippled outward in concentric circles. Wave after wave surged upward, each layer more powerful than the last, until they eventually rose several meters high, with a force akin to a tidal wave or a tsunami. Not a single drop of these surging waves fell outside the Magic Pool; the churning magical liquid vanished into thin air mid-flight—some evaporating instantly, others seeping into the dungeon's core above. Magical fluctuations in this area raged like a hurricane, with countless runes flashing and fading, radiating from the dungeon's core throughout the entire structure and far, far beyond.
An invisible wave swept through, and the dungeon's inhabitants seemed to sense something, looking around in bewilderment. In certain parts of Eryan, an imperceptible resonance arose, and the surface of the Demon Pool dropped rapidly, as if it had been sucked dry in a single breath.
After the first ripples spread out, things seemed to reach a stalemate.
The pool had been drained dry, and now Victor floated above the parched basin, his slender fingers dancing through the air like a puppeteer manipulating invisible strings. Magic flowed slowly between him and the citadel, its pace agonizingly slow compared to moments before. The demon known as Ake, hidden within its protective shield, clasped its multi-jointed bone claws together and began to shift slightly, clearly running out of patience.
"Do you really have a way to pull this off?" it couldn't help but ask. "If those guys find out we're still here, they won't go easy on us!"
"For them to 'get tough,' they'd have to actually be tough enough," Victor quipped. "The fewer Great Demons involved, the longer the preparation time. Since both our true forms are here, the launch will be delayed by at least a few months."
"You should be more worried than I am!" Ake warned. "If Rashdja discovers from the delay that you're not in the Abyss, and that you've only left your body down there…"
"He won't find out. Do you think we're the only ones slacking off? In the Great Abyss, only when one is reduced to a single soul do they work together in unison." Victor shook his head with a smile. "Besides, you can't get the tiger's cub without entering the tiger's den. The risk is absolutely worth the reward. That's why the esteemed 'King Without a Name,' Ake, has come here temporarily, isn't it?"
King Without a Name Ake gave a noncommittal snort.
"Oh, right, I haven't answered your question yet." Victor said casually. "Yes, I can. But I'll need a little help."
"Then speak up!" Ake urged.
"I'd be most grateful." Victor composed his expression and flashed a professional smile. "Your presence here is the greatest help I could ask for."
The Demon Lord's smile resembled that of a friendly, harmless shopkeeper, and his humble tone was utterly sincere. But his fellow demon turned pale upon hearing those words, and the Demon Lord's aura of intimidation erupted suddenly as a long bone scythe flashed in his hand.
It was already too late.
The bone scythe never struck; it was raised high and then froze mid-air, the blade and its wielder both frozen in place. The ripples that had just spread out abruptly reversed course, their center now not the Demon Pool, but the headless Demon Lord himself. Countless invisible threads tightened layer by layer around the Nameless King Ake, faster than lightning and as unshakable as the forces of heaven and earth. This colossal trap had been meticulously laid long ago; once triggered, it sealed off all escape routes—the outcome had been decided the moment that headless demon lord was lured here.
"You tricked me! You damned traitor!" Akhe roared.
"Abyss, Akhe," Victor laughed, "did you just meet me today?"
The final veil was torn away, and now the dungeon revealed its true form: a massive sacrificial array. The great demon bound at the very center struggled desperately, but to no avail; amid curses, he was torn into countless fragments. The heart of the dungeon beat wildly, and the Abyss, connected to it, accepted this substantial sacrifice, erupting in a jubilant roar. The sound was like a wild, maniacal laugh, or hyenas calling to one another as they greedily devoured their prey.
The death of Ake, Lord of the Reapers, filled the final corner of the entire puzzle. Victor's long-planned chess game had placed its last piece. His many clones left on the ground entered a state of dormancy, becoming anchor points. It could be an ancient necklace, a forgotten mirror in a basement, or a lost ancient scroll… These objects are scattered across every corner of Eryan, far and wide, everywhere. As long as even one remains unsealed, Victor can traverse between the Abyss and the Material Plane freely and undetected, even if the two realms are sealed off.
His enemies were no fools, and the demon lords were not of one mind; their attempt to carve up the Prime Material Plane was doomed to fail. Therefore, these contingency plans would surely come in handy, no matter what the future held.
The sole remaining demon lord on the Prime Material Plane watched coldly from the sidelines.
The resonance of the Abyss is hard to conceal, but Victor used his dungeon as a conduit to successfully distance himself from the conflict. Even if his Abyssal colleagues detected the commotion, they wouldn't be able to track him down immediately. The threat from the denizens of the Prime Material Plane, however, was far more urgent. He hadn't slaughtered everyone who had blocked his path; he'd merely exploited a gap to break out of the encirclement. Trouble would be hot on his heels before long.
Ah, they're already here.
The sentinels on the dungeon's outer perimeter had detected the enemy's presence. Reinforcements were on their way; he had to leave. Victor spread his palm, and the secret passage to the Abyss opened. A single step would take him away from this now-exposed location, just as planned.
The demon lord, who had always been in complete control, showed a hint of hesitation at this very moment.
Victor tilted his head back.
He was the master of this dungeon; seeing every corner within was no problem. Yet Victor raised his head instinctively, just like an ordinary person.
The scene shifted upward.
Beneath the soaring dome of the central hall, the dungeon's passages wound like roots, the corridors were smooth, and the facilities were aesthetically pleasing. Judging by its beauty and thoughtful layout, this place was clearly more than just a disposable prop serving as a conduit; it was even more impressive than the interior of the Tarsha Dungeon. At a quick glance, there were no signs of living quarters, nor any rooms or warriors prepared for battle.
There were tiny, moving golem figures, but they looked completely incapable of combat. There were rooms filled with crafts, everything arranged neatly and spotless. The view swiftly shifts upward, beyond the horizon, where a castle stands towering above the dungeon. This spired castle is both magnificent and fairy-tale-like, reminiscent of Neuschwanstein Castle or the Disney logo.
It is concealed by various powerful spells. Victor himself is not skilled in magic, but he has plenty of time to deceive numerous powerful spellcasters. Those spells he has swindled… Those spells, acquired through fair trade, have protected this stronghold for ages, keeping it hidden—so that thieves cannot steal a single gold coin from it, nor can Death claim a single soul within.
A vast array of exquisite treasures is housed within the castle. These "treasures" are not merely precious metals and jewels whose value is obvious to all, but rather items that would make a collector in any field cheer with delight upon entering a particular room. Exquisite musical instruments, rare pigments, lost-art tools… Each collection is housed in the most fitting room, and a connoisseur would recognize that its owner was undoubtedly a true expert—a player so well-versed in so many fields could likely only be found among the long-lived, immortal races. However, the true treasures of the Overground City are not these soulless objects, but the "souls."
Countless phantoms roam freely throughout the castle; even a fleeting glance reveals that these shadows possess faces. These beings, indistinguishable from their living counterparts, are not faceless ghosts, but disembodied souls. Artists whose birth and death years lie far apart host salons spanning centuries; needing neither food nor sleep, and undisturbed by natural or man-made disasters, their gatherings can continue forever.
In a quiet, safe little room, a novelist completes yet another masterpiece he never finished in life. In the castle theater, bathed in brilliant light, a playwright sits contentedly in the audience as outstanding singers and actors perform his script. In a bright studio, a taciturn painter continues to pour his creative passion into his work even after death. In a corridor, a sculptor is attempting to lift a new statue onto a low table. In the garden before the castle, a dancer twirls gracefully, her red skirt unfurling like a flower, while the beautiful, melodious music drifts beyond the castle walls. Fairies and elves linger for a long time outside the protective spells, and fairy lanterns grow freely in this realm.
This is the earthly treasury of the Serpent of Lies.
Victor, gazing up at the ceiling, wore an expressionless face; at that moment, Tasa understood his feelings.
The mages within the Astral Mage Tower presented Tasa with the remains of a demon lord ("May this meager assistance be of use to you. Good luck.") The black cocoon, long dormant in the Demon Pool, finally stirred. Tasa was able to resume the interrupted dream, witnessing the latter half of Victor's memories. Beyond the visions of the past, Tasa could also read some of his thoughts from that moment, thereby understanding things she had previously failed to grasp.
For instance, why Victor had placed the treasury in the mortal realm.
Because the Abyss is eternally hungry.
Everything in the Abyss is like a giant stomach: you either provide sustenance for the Abyss, or you yourself become the sustenance, devoured and digested. Lower-tier monsters cannot devour souls on their own; they are merely the mouths of the Abyss, driven by it to kill ceaselessly. Mid-tier demons, at least possessing souls, become the Abyss's hired hands, able to consume some nourishment while working for their master. The demon lords at the pinnacle of the demonic hierarchy seem to have attained freedom; when they acquire a soul, they can choose to sacrifice it to the Abyss or consume it themselves.
But there are only two choices.
The souls obtained by demon lords are always difficult to preserve; if they do not consume them promptly, the Abyss will make the choice for them, tearing the soul apart and devouring it, for even the most powerful demons are merely extensions of the Abyss's will. No matter what story the soul had in life, or what kind of personality or hobbies it possessed, there is only one standard before the Abyss: the strong are valuable, the weak are worthless; every soul is merely a price tag.
Yet the rebel Victor made a third choice: he hid the souls he obtained in the mortal realm.
He traded with powerful spellcasters to acquire so many spells, using them to conceal his presence from the gods of the heavens, the adventurers of the mortal realm, and the Abyss itself. These ironclad defenses have kept this castle tightly sealed, while the cunning Serpent of Lies smuggled his wealth out. For thousands of years, no one has discovered it.
Until now.
Victor had long anticipated that the Abyssal Resonance would reveal this place to all planes, and he had prepared to blow both the treasure trove of the mortal realm and this dungeon to smithereens before leaving—the traps were already in place, sufficient to deal a heavy blow to any pursuers. Now that the time had come, Victor must leave the Prime Material Plane for an extended period. In the coming war, this treasure trove would either be discovered or destroyed; detonating it early would be a form of recycling. In a few more years, the entire Prime Material Plane would be corrupted by the Abyss. Once the Abyssal Will realized it had been deceived, simply confiscating these souls would not be enough to resolve the matter.
These thoughts flashed through Victor's mind. He had long since sorted out the cause and effect, weighed the pros and cons, made his preparations and decisions—now all that remained was to carry them out. But if Victor were merely a clever man acting purely out of self-interest, he—a melee-focused demon lord—wouldn't be abandoning his physical form every other day to venture into the Material Plane.
No demon loved the Material Plane as much as he did. Victor had spent too long among mortals; he had grown too close to them. An endless void and hunger still yearned for souls, and the living beings of the mortal realm remained fragile and fleeting to him. Yet this demon lord no longer viewed all souls as merely interchangeable sustenance. He knew that every soul was unique, and that every one that vanished could never be replicated.
And so, just before he was about to destroy it all, Victor felt a pang of reluctance—even a moment of hesitation.
The Serpent of Lies was a ruthless adversary: cautious yet decisive, cold-blooded and merciless, never wavering. This first-ever hesitation brought about consequences he had never imagined.
A beam of light descended from the heavens.
The pursuers were faster than Victor had anticipated; they had made agonizing sacrifices along the way, all to reach this place as quickly as possible. Several legendary practitioners had employed secret techniques that cost them their lives; this willingness to pay any price ensured their attack arrived in time. The spells, designed more for concealment than defense, shattered instantly under the blow.
If the attack had targeted only Victor, the demon lord—with his many contingency plans—might have found a way to escape. But the strike struck the castle first, shattering the spells that concealed it.
Because of that momentary hesitation, Victor had not yet managed to destroy all the souls within by the time the spells were broken. Centuries of concealment were ripped away in an instant. Before the souls within the castle could be destroyed by the attack, the Will of the Abyss discovered them first.
The Abyss had uncovered Victor's deception.
Victor crashed to the ground. The demon lord, who had remained unscathed despite being surrounded by several legendary adventurers, began to convulse. A blood-curdling scream tore from his throat, and black blood seeped from his skin.
The Will of the Abyss showed not a shred of mercy. It cared nothing for the lavish sacrifice just made, nor for how many souls the demon lord had brought to the Abyss in the past, nor how many more he might deliver in the future—had the Will of the Abyss been a sentient being open to negotiation, the Serpent of Lies might have used his silver tongue to bargain for a sliver of hope. Alas, no matter how imposing the Abyss's Will might seem by comparison, it was merely a mindless entity, governed by a rigid system of rewards and punishments.
The Abyss's favor and rewards were immeasurably bountiful; its punishments were equally devastating.
Tasha's scalp prickled at the piercing scream; Victor's voice was so agonized that within seconds, he was completely silenced. He curled up like a shrimp; scales emerged from his skin, then fell away, leaving him a bloody mess with wounds deep enough to expose bone. The body housing Victor's soul rapidly collapsed; his soul emerged, rising in a cloud of black smoke, as if a low-level demon had been doused with holy water.
A demon's soul belongs to the Abyss; once rejected by it, little of that soul can survive.
It hurts so much, so terribly. Being banished by the Abyss is like forcing a soul through a fine sieve—sifting out the parts that belong to the Abyss, then squeezing the rest out under immense pressure. Victor had lost the organs that allowed him to speak, yet his soul still writhed in agony, utterly powerless to resist. No matter how powerful or cunning a demon might be, it could only be shaped and molded at the Abyss's will. Tasa understood Victor's fear of the Abyss—a fear born of instinct, far surpassing that of facing a natural enemy.
Tasha almost wanted to reach out and grab him, to stop him from harming himself in his agony. She wanted to shelter Victor beneath her wings, just as one might cover a vampire rolling in the sunlight with a thick black cloth. But Tasha's hand passed right through Victor; no one could change what had already happened.
The attack that had shattered the spells surrounding the castle finally struck.
The mage's spell exploded somewhere, the warrior's battle aura crashed into the spire—under the onslaught of so many legends, the castle was as fragile as a gingerbread house pounded by a mischievous child. Layer after layer of defenses crumbled, countless treasures turned to ash, and the souls that had been imprisoned and protected for thousands of years broke free from their bonds, returning to their rightful end. All living and undead beings in the overground city vanished into thin air, and the underground city began to crumble. A beam of sword light descended from the heavens, piercing through the Demon Pool and Victor within it.
The core of the underground city, near the dome, fell, shattering into countless fragments, like blood flowing from the city itself. Most of these stone bloodstains vanished without a trace upon hitting the ground, purified by the sacred sword light. The magnificent hall collapsed; reliefs shattered, columns toppled, and drapes and carpets were reduced to dust. A long crack ran across the stone pool and spread across the floor; the sword's gash split the entire hall in two.
In an instant, this splendid hall bore an uncanny resemblance to the ruins Tashan would see centuries later.
Victor was no longer there.
It is hard to say whether it was an act of mercy, but that single sword stroke severed his soul and shortened the agonizing sentence the Abyss had imposed upon him. The serpent of lies, who had deceived the world and dared to mock the Abyss, died when his lies were exposed.
Victor, the great demon who had spent his entire life steeped in lies and evil, committing countless atrocities, died because of a single act of kindness.