Hew had died today. If not for Ju's quick thinking and the fortunate presence of her aunt, I wouldn’t have him alive again—resurrected from the dead.

As if that weren’t enough, there’d also been an assassination attempt on Tom near the mine. Fortunately, the orcs had been more vigilant.

But the details only made it worse. In Tom's case, the attacker had been a demon—a demon someone had deliberately summoned to kill him!

And Hew? A peasant had stabbed him in the chest with a knife during what should have been a routine work discussion. None of the witnesses had seen it coming, and no one had a clue why it happened.

Ju stood by the table, a thick book resting in her hand, though her eyes weren’t on the pages. Instead, they were fixed on me, her gaze heavy with concern.

I was seething. Black mana surged through my veins, darkening them beneath my skin as it grew paler by the second.

"You're only hurting yourself," Ju said, her tone measured, trying to calm me.

I clenched my fists, grasping at the empty air, and let out a raw yell of frustration. She sighed but held back from saying anything else.

It was clear that both I and the barony were under coordinated attack. The problem was, I had no idea who was behind it. Sure, I had my suspicions, but without proof, my hands were tied. What if I lashed out at the wrong people and made everything worse?

My aura had never been this dark. In a way, I was lucky I’d been demoted. If I still held my full powers, it would probably be unbearable—or outright impossible—for anyone to stay near me with such suffocating darkness radiating from me.

“Next time—if there’s any next time—I’ll resurrect the attacker. Then we can get answers,” Ju said.

I rubbed my running nose, and she handed me a clean handkerchief. The thought of wasting a resurrection spell on some idiot only to be blocked from using it again for three days gnawed at me. With the frequency of these attacks—and the vulnerability of my companions—it was too great a risk.

For now, I’d forbidden them from leaving the castle. An arrow or crossbow bolt could easily spell their end, especially now with both Ju and her aunt on cooldown for their resurrection spells. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it was the best I could do.

"Did you know that Therella went off with Sid to explore the dungeon?" Ju asked, probably to change the subject—but she couldn’t have picked a worse topic for me.

"That octogenarian cougar-hag needs to stay away from my little Sid!" I snapped, my indignation spilling over.

Ju arched a brow and chuckled, clearly amused by my outburst. "She’s not an octogenarian. She’ll turn eighty next human year. She’s only seventy-nine in human years, which makes her an irresponsible teenager by elf standards. Besides, it was Sid’s idea."

"Only seventy-nine!" I snorted in protest, the sound coming out so awkward it made me grab for my handkerchief again. Ju offered me another one, but I waved her off. This one would last a little longer—or so I hoped.

"Thanks!" I said, waving her off, though I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that somehow Therella had manipulated Sid into proposing the whole thing. I shrugged it off. There wasn’t any proof, and I couldn’t do anything to change it now.

“Did the two of them go alone?”

“Yes,” Ju replied. “They told me it’s just a preliminary check. She wants to go back later with Tina and the prince.”

I scowled, the image of Sid transformed into a dragon and letting her ride on his back flashing through my mind. They did take 'secretly' off from his tower. He’d thought it was “cool” and “funny.” Drats!

"I can’t wait to get rid of the princelings!" I exclaimed, irritation tainting my voice.

"Sid and Therella seem to be having a good time. I don’t know why you’re so against it," Ju countered with a light shrug.

I snorted again, a sound of pure frustration, and threw up my hands. “What do they hope to accomplish? The dungeon might react violently if high-level people like Sid enter it! Besides, it’s pointless if Sid or Lynx just clears it out for them. Where’s the value in that? How did your aunt react to all this?”

Ju answered with an amused smile.

“She was delighted. Lynx has a talent for masking his presence. The paladins will probably stay outside with Sid, while Lynx does... well, nothing—unless the three run into trouble. He’s just backup.”

That wasn’t such a bad plan. I took a deep breath and glanced at her. She had successfully shifted my focus away from the attacks on my friends.

“How does a dungeon even work?” I wondered, now that she had opened the subject. To me, it was all just 'magic' without any real explanation.

Her eyes lit up with interest—it was clear this was a topic she had studied thoroughly.

“The theory,” she began, leaning slightly forward, “is that dungeons are actually living beings. When you step into a dungeon, you’re stepping inside its body. The creatures—or mobs—you encounter are like its cells, performing tasks the dungeon needs. The dungeon learns and adapts over time, even copying some of the beings it assimilates.

“When intruders enter, it’s like an immune response. The mobs act like white blood cells, attacking you based on how much of a threat you pose. A smaller group means a less intense reaction, which is why smaller parties can explore more safely.

“The brain of the dungeon is its core,” she continued, her voice almost reverent. “Destroy the core, and the dungeon dies. In mana-rich areas, where specific crystals are present and other unknown conditions align, a dungeon can be born. As it grows, it expands, digging deeper into the mountain. But it needs free mana circulation to survive—that’s why there’s always an opening, even if parts of it can temporarily seal themselves off.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing her explanation. It did make sense in a strange way.

"What about the precious ore dungeons build inside them? Why would they do that?" I asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Transmutation," Ju replied. "They transmute elements into precious metals and crystals. It’s not entirely clear why, though. It might just be a byproduct of their processes, or it could play a role in their metabolism or mana circulation. Some scholars suggest that mana circulation is intrinsic to their metabolism."

She shrugged lightly.

"That’s the gist of it. There are entire books, studies, and dissertations on the subject. Should I pick up something for you?"

I shook my head.

"Nah. That’s the least of my worries right now."

She raised her eyes to meet mine.

“Do you feel better?”

I took a deep breath, “Yes,” I said, with a determined nod. “And I think I have an idea!”

Her smile faltered, freezing on her lips as she watched me askance. “What idea?” she asked, with hesitation in her voice.

I grinned. “You don’t seem to trust my ideas too much…” I teased, holding up the book I’d been clutching.

Her brow arched as she glanced at it. “That’s from the library!” she exclaimed, worry creeping into her tone. “Was it restored?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “Yes, the elf scholar who came with your aunt restored it. And I think I finally know why I’ve been having trouble when repairing or creating things with magic!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Her eyes widened, her brows shooting up in genuine surprise. “Really?” she asked, her voice brimming with interest. “Explain!”

“Later,” I said, raising a finger to halt her questions. “Let me test my idea first. Come with me!”

“OK?” she replied, standing slowly, still puzzled, but willing to follow.

We descended the stairs, the soft clatter of our steps echoing through the quiet hallways.

“Lady Lores!” the orc guard greeted, his posture straightening as he spotted me.

“Is the body of the assassin still in our custody?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.

“I believe so, my lady. It should still be in the dakta,” he replied, gesturing toward a sturdy building on the other side of the courtyard.

The dakta—the orc term for company storage room—had been repurposed in recent times, now serving also as a makeshift prison and, evidently, a morgue.

As we stepped into the dimly lit dakta, the smell of aged wood and faint iron greeted us. An old orc, Muherjo, stood guard inside, his presence commanding despite his ravaged appearance. He bore the scars of a veteran—one hand missing, an eyepatch covering the void where his left eye had been, and a crudely fitted prosthetic replacing part of his left leg. The injuries, I’d been told, were the results of an acid attack during a long-past battle. Since they hadn’t been treated immediately, the wounds had left their permanent mark.

Ju had been trying for some time to convince Muherjo to let her experiment with restorative magic on him, but he’d remained steadfast in his refusal. Crafting such a spell would require delving into uncharted magical territory—painful and uncertain for him, and arduous for her.

Muherjo greeted me with a respectful bow. “My lady,” he said in his gravelly tone before his single eye shifted to Ju. “Lady Ju,” he continued, his voice firm, “my answer is still no!” He shook his head, his expression resolute.

Ju chuckled but didn’t press the issue. “Good to see you too, Muherjo. Let me know if you change your mind! Lady Lores has some questions for you” she replied with a wry smile.

He turned his single, inquiring eye toward me.

“We are here to check on the assassin’s body. Is it still here?” I asked.

He took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “Yes, my lady. Why would they leave the body of a dead man in my dakta? Nobody’s come to claim him.” He paused, tilting his head. “Do you want to see it?”

I nodded.

“Very well, my lady. Please, follow me.”

With that, he opened a heavy wooden door that protested loudly on its hinges, the creaking sound reverberating through the room. He led us down a dim, narrow corridor, the air growing colder and carrying a faint metallic tang.

As we followed, my gaze was drawn to a cell on the left side of the corridor. Inside were a woman and a small child huddled together. The sight made me stop in my tracks.

“What’s with them?” I asked, frowning as I studied their gaunt, wary faces.

Muherjo halted as well, turning back to glance at the pair with a nonchalant shrug.

“Serfs, my lady. They were brought in yesterday by the baron’s men. These two aren’t from your domain, your ladyship,” he added with a subtle shake of his head. “They’ll be taken back to their own lands when their party returns. Must be from a domain farther out…”

The woman looked up at us, her expression a fragile balance of fear and defiance as she clutched the child tightly to her side. A pang of unease stirred in me, and I found myself stepping toward the cell.

Muherjo hesitated, his single eye darting between me and the locked door. When I nodded, he reluctantly pulled out a key and unlocked it.

The woman immediately dropped her head to the ground in a deep bow, pressing the child protectively against her.

I activated my identification skill, and the words materialized in my mind:

<>

Yet, something didn’t sit right. A nagging inconsistency tugged at the edges of my perception. I activated the skill again, focusing harder this time. There was... something more. I sighed softly. Identification wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot. I’d encountered these oddities before and was beginning to piece together the patterns.

When someone had dual specializations, the skill would only show the primary one—the dominant path—and their overall level. But with careful observation, you could sometimes sense the outlines of a secondary talent, faint but present.

And this woman... She carried the faint traces of alchemical skills.

“Are you an alchemist?” I asked, my voice steady but probing.

She didn’t dare lift her head. “Please, my lady,” she stammered, her tone pleading, “I’m just a peasant.”

I shifted my gaze to the child clinging to her side and used my skill again.

<>

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Your child has the aptitude for healing,” I observed aloud. “She could become a healer.”

The woman gasped and clutched the child even tighter. Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush, almost tripping over each other.

“Please, my lady! We won’t trouble you! I beg you—leave my child alone! Please!”

“Muherjo, why is she wearing a collar?” I asked, turning to face my orc companion.

He shrugged, stepping closer. “In most domains, serfs are required to wear collars,” he explained, his fingers brushing the metal as he examined the engraved mark. “The owner’s name is... hmm... O? That would suggest your domain, my lady. But no one here wears collars. Maybe there’s part of the name missing...”

I inhaled deeply as realization dawned. The pieces began to fall into place.

“Please remove the collar,” I said in a calm but firm tone. “Since she’s our serf, take her to Loretta. Make sure they’re both fed and given one of the free rooms on the ground floor for the night. Tomorrow, the child can join Alice's group.”

“Please don’t take Rianda away from me!” the woman cried, bowing even lower, her forehead pressed to the ground.

I crouched, gently taking her chin and tilting her face upward. Her hazel eyes - beautiful but brimming with fear - met mine.

“You’ll stay together,” I assured her softly. “No one will take your child from you. Alice will just help check her aptitudes—only if you’re comfortable with that.”

I refrained from mentioning the school Alice was working on; it was still a distant plan, and I didn’t want to add to her worry.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Roberta, your ladyship,” she replied, her voice a little steadier, though the fear lingered in her eyes.

“Alright, Roberta. You’ll go with Muherjo now to have those collars removed, and then to Loretta. If anyone questions you, just tell them Lady Lores sent you.”

I turned to Muherjo. He nodded, showing that he knew already what he had to do without needing further explanation.

As the old orc guided Roberta and her child out of the room, I exhaled slowly and turned toward the back of the dakta, where the assassin’s body awaited.

"Count Ottmar would be displeased if he finds out," Ju said with a chuckle, walking a step behind me.

I rolled my eyes. "The old fool shouldn’t use the initials of my domain. The tiny 'v' inside the 'O' is nearly illegible." I shook my head, irritated. Ottmar Viscountcy was a domain farther toward the capital. "How did this girl even make it this far?"

"Probably luck, slipping through the forests," Ju guessed. "She’s terrified, and for good reason. She knows they’d likely take her daughter away the moment they discover her aptitudes. That’s the fate of most serf children like her."

We entered the final room, the faint smell of aged wood and decay settling over us. Between a collection of wooden coffins, a partially naked body lay stretched out on a cold, flat plate.

"So, what do you plan to do with this... uh... body?" Ju asked, her tone skeptical as she gestured vaguely at the lifeless form.

I held up the book in my hand. Her brows furrowed as she read the title, and her expression shifted to one of disbelief.

"That’s a very rare and valuable resurrection tome. What are you trying to do?"

I shrugged casually, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Just testing an idea."

Ju shook her head, her confusion deepening. "You can't just practice on a dead body. It doesn't work like that!"

"Why not?" I asked, tilting my head with genuine curiosity.

She sighed and tried to explain. "You can't connect white magic to this body. It's far too late—there's no purpose for the magic to latch onto. Besides, you don’t have the required level of white magic. So, what exactly are you planning to do with your dark magic?"

I chuckled, amused by her growing unease. "That’s exactly the point. But first..." I flipped open the book, running my fingers across its pages. "...let me consult with my daddy."

Her eyes widened as I sat down with the book in my lap, already focusing on the intricate diagrams and runes. She stared at me like I had lost my mind.

"I think I’m starting to get worried..." she mumbled under her breath, her gaze darting between me and the lifeless body on the slab.