Anther and his father were sleeping well in beds that Archimedes had made for them, so the dungeon was free to focus on his research once again.

Despite the fact that he’d technically already had several mind stone samples he could analyze before sending out Helios, those belonged to the group of bandits who had attacked him shortly after his rebirth. He had no way of knowing if those low lives had possessed legal, standardized mind stones or not. On top of that, the only elf specimen among that group expressed atypical features: his mood was poor and mana didn’t cling to him like it did other elves. Given that Anther was an elf, obtaining the most accurate data on how the mind stones of elves functioned was paramount, which was why Archimedes had gone out of his way to obtain more.

He inspected each of his samples thoroughly, comparing the data inside against what he knew about their owners. Through this, he was able to single out and identify supporting structures within the mind stones: tiny spell formations that supported their functions. It wasn’t long until Archimedes knew what each of those spell formations was used for, and at that point, he knew enough about mind stones to be utterly confused.

Every ounce of physical data, from body state to chemical pathways in the brain, was accounted for. He had been so thorough in his analysis and still he noticed no problems.

This didn’t make sense. The problem had to be with the mind stones if it were anywhere in this process. Yes, there was a margin of error relating to the mind casters themselves. Archimedes couldn’t be sure how a mind caster actually extracted information from a mind stone, only how it ought to in theory. But given that, the Guild would have no reason to obstruct him if he had no means of coming into contact with the root of the problem.

He didn’t give up, moving on to live tests instead, thinking that perhaps theory alone was insufficient to identify the issue.

Archimedes chose an innocuous beetle and forced its mana signature into a blank mind stone. He observed as the spell formations built into the crystal activated and supplied real-time information. The formatting process was exactly as he had estimated it to be.

Once he had a mind stone full of data, he reversed the process. By spending far more mana than a humble insect was worth, Archimedes used the information inside the mind stone as his template and filled the role of the mind caster himself.

Therein he noticed a problem.

The beetle created by that process was identical to the original subject in every way. However, it was for all intents and purposes, an outsider. There was no innate connection between its primitive insect brain and the dungeon. It bore no loyalty to Archimedes. In its own insect way, it was aware of the dungeon due to its own memories, but there was no ongoing connection. And when he tested it, the recreated beetle was able to leave the dungeon without possessing a creature core.

Archimedes ordered Demeter to drag it back inside with her roots before it could wander off, and he obliterated the heretical creation on an atomic level.

What does this mean? Why did this happen?

Archimedes was actually somewhat shaken. The fact that he was capable of making something with no connection to himself—something alien and capable of harming him—was disturbing… But that alone wasn’t enough from the Guild’s perspective. What would it matter to them if mind stones enabled him to waste vast quantities of mana for no benefit? No, he hadn’t gotten to the bottom of things yet. This pit went deeper still.

Archimedes regretted destroying his first specimen, because he needed another to proceed with the next experiments he thought of.

Lilith was a being created by transforming a mind stone into a creature core and using that as a template. What would happen if he attached a creature core to a being made from a mind stone?

Given that the creature didn’t belong to Archimedes, despite being of his own creation, it was likely impossible, but he intended to try anyway. He would try that and a hundred other experiments to find out why only beings made from mind stones were disloyal.

The cleaner way might have been to study his creature cores for comparison, but the dungeon had quickly hit a wall that way. He could identify every structure a mind stone possessed inside of each creature core he had access to, but that took up less than half of the storage space. Among the remaining space, he identified a few additional spell formations with relatively straightforward functions. For example, one had the function of always pointing the creature toward the dungeon it was tied to, so that they wouldn’t get lost in the outside world.

However, other spell formations sealed within were much more difficult to grasp. They all seemed to draw upon another region of the core that was used for storage: additional information beyond the physical state of the creature. Archimedes was unable to parse this data—he didn’t even know how to start.

But he did suspect that loyalty was included in that data somehow.

So what would happen if he tried shoving a creature core into a copied beetle?

It wasn’t easy to attempt. Usually, creature cores were only usable on creatures that Archimedes owned already. But he discovered that the skill he had learned by following Vow’s advice, Alter Creature, made it possible.

By using that skill as an intermediary, Archimedes was able to grant the copied beetle a creature core. It became an ordinary creature of the dungeon like any other.

Horrifyingly, the original beetle became an outsider instead. When he tried giving it a creature core too, it wasn’t possible.

[You may only bestow one Creature Core per creature.]

According to that red warning window, courtesy of Vow’s subconscious, both beetles were considered one entity. Yet another inconceivable result.

When Archimedes tried altering the beetle’s mind stone slightly artificially, the beetle created from it was considered a separate creature, and he was able to give it a creature core to incorporate it into the dungeon.

When he had Demeter capture an ordinary insect from outside, even Alter Creature wasn’t sufficient to let him bestow a creature core unto it. The warning he got when he tried was no less concerning than the previous one.

[You may not use Alter Creature on a creature from another domain.]

By the time his two guests were starting to stir awake, Archimedes was questioning everything he knew about outsiders and his own creations. He still didn’t know why specifically the Guild wanted him to stay uninvolved with mind stones, but he was convinced that he would discover something dangerous if he kept pulling back the curtains.

***

Several days had passed since Casanuella returned “home”. She had adapted already to the smell of books permeating everywhere and to never seeing the sky above her head. Occasionally, she still raised a hand to scratch at her horns, feeling odd about the lack of metal piercings and plates.

Of course, she would not be allowed to replace those decorations. They were considered improper. As was the old collection of clothes in her wardrobe.

Casanuella had awoken on the first morning of her stay to see one of their few remaining servants emptying her closet and filling it with some of the most conservative clothes in demon society. Her drawer of makeup had been completely emptied, and a maid was put in charge of tying her hair up every morning for the foreseeable future.

By the third day, she was somewhat used to the restrictiveness of her clothing. Her chest, neck, shoulders, back, and midriff were all covered completely by today’s dress. The skirt’s long slits opened windows that revealed only dark leggings behind them. Her wrists, face, and ankles were the only places where skin could be seen.

Of course, covering her wrists and ankles would have implied she was a laborer, a soldier, or in some other line of work that presented a physical threat to her person. That, too, would have been improper. She was from a scholarly family, after all.

Casanuella didn’t bother to complain that the pins in her hair were poking her head. As she made her way downstairs to join her lovely family for a meal, she secretly hoped blood would drip from her scalp and convince her parents to at least let her wear her hair down while it healed.

Of course, her plan failed, and a doctor was immediately called to the house instead when the maids noticed what was happening later that evening.

“Depression is a fairly common symptom after resurrection,” the doctor assured Casanuella’s parents. “Death is a traumatic event, but most patients recover within a few days.”

“Can’t you prescribe some kind of medication?” Casa’s mother insisted, waving her decorative folding fan a bit too quickly.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“It’s nice to have her be obedient for a change,” Casa’s father huffed, “but she’s bringing down everybody’s mood with hers. The performance of the servants is starting to slip.”

The subject of their conversation herself sat passively in a chair facing the doctor, who shook his head in mild exasperation.

“Those medications can have side effects, and I don’t think your daughter’s case is serious enough to merit that. Consider letting her see a counselor to talk through her issues first.”

The doctor had more he wanted to say to this couple—who seemed to see their daughter as more of an inconvenience than a person—but he held his tongue to leave that to a professional.

Several more days passed, but Casa didn’t feel that anything had improved. She was seeing a counselor regularly now, and she was fairly skilled at her job, but Casanuella needed more than just someone to listen to her problems.

Although they were terribly unloving, her family wasn’t quite abusing her in the eyes of the law. So even if her counselor wanted to contact the government and suggest Casa be separated from them, her recommendation would be denied. The Opherions were nothing but window dressing to dangle in front of the great demon sage if he ever returned. Casa’s parents’ interpretation of their life was correct: only their appearance mattered, and their substance was irrelevant.

All Casa’s counselor could do was petition her parents to show a little gentleness and consideration for their daughter. She suggested that they smile more and not isolate her so much.

Her advice was handily ignored, and Casanuella continued living like a criminal in her own house.

A week had passed since her return home, and Casa’s father burst into her room with a handful of servants, red-faced and furious.

“You miscreant! Get up!”

She stood too slowly for his taste, so he waved a pair of male servants to take her by the arms and pull her along. She was dragged out into the hallway, forced to follow the head of the house at nearly a trot.

“A visitor came by demanding reparations from us for your banditry! He threatened to tell the whole neighborhood if we didn’t!”

They soon arrived in front of a thick wooden door, shut tight and nearly soundproof. Casa’s father abruptly stopped in front of it and peered down his nose at his eldest mistake.

“Apologize to him for whatever you did and send him away properly!”

A servant placed a pouch full of coins in Casanuella’s hands. She stared at it as if she couldn’t quite recall what hush money was. In reality, she was wondering who she had offended and how. Of course, she had been a bandit for a little over a year. She had hurt and robbed people during that time, but could any of those people have discovered who she was?

Or maybe a fellow bandit had realized the truth and was here to extort her?

“Get going!”

Impatient, her father opened the door and had the servants subtly push her inside.

Casanuella was barely through the door. She had just enough time to see the figure of an elf seated on a couch facing her, his long brown hair untied and somewhat unkempt, before said figure collapsed. His body rolled forward onto the floor like a lifeless doll, and the maid who had been in the room to serve tea screamed.

The maid and the two male servants rushed over to check on the guest, turning him face-up and trying to rouse him. It was only then that Casanuella got a good enough look at him to recognize Yarnam, the gloomy elf who had been the only other survivor of their harassment of Genenwell’s new dungeon.

Seeing that now his eyes were hollow and his chest wasn’t moving, a short laugh escaped her lips.

Casanuella’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at herself, and she held a hand over her mouth as if to take the sound back and trap it inside. Her father glared at her furiously while the servants spared but a glance in mortification.

“He-he’s dead,” the maid declared, pale-faced.

“Don’t worry, he was a bandit,” Casa said quickly to spare herself from further shouting. “And it seems he doesn’t require anything of me after all. I’ll return to my room now.”

***

Alone and unhindered, Casanuella returned to her room and locked herself inside. Her mind replayed Yarnam’s collapse involuntarily, and she wondered why he had even come here. There was no way that nonsense about demanding an apology was true.

Unless he blamed her for being the only one to be resurrected?

Then did he not betray us after all?

Sadly, there was no way to learn the truth now. Whether Yarnam had handed over their mind stones willingly or not; whatever he had felt the need to infiltrate her family home for; it was now lost behind the lips of a dead man.

I’m tired, Casa thought, moving toward her bed. As she did so, she passed in front of a full-length mirror and glanced briefly at her reflection.

I’m smiling?

Casa’s feet stopped and her lips turned downward. She moved closer to the mirror and inspected her face, touching her mouth gently with her fingertips.

Was I making that face the whole way back? I didn’t think I was that happy to see him die.

She still had no solid proof whether Yarnam had betrayed them or not. But maybe, deep down, she felt that way?

She was a little disturbed at herself for her first smile after resurrection to be in response to the death of an old friend.

Casanuella pulled away from the mirror and caught sight of her bed again. She was reminded of the deep tiredness she was feeling, probably from shock, and flicked her wrist. A silence spell was cast over the room that would keep sound from getting in or leaving—so she could nap peacefully. As always, the ferocious magic bent to her will, much more aggressive and powerful than an elf’s.

A hint of confusion settled over Casa. She didn’t usually make a habit of comparing her magic to elf magic. Nor did she usually go so far as to cast silence when she slept.

Nor do I make a habit of smiling and laughing when people die. Maybe I should talk about it with my counselor later.

Yes, she probably should do that.

Another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she came a few steps closer to the bed.

Why did she feel so uneasy?

Maybe I’m in shock.

That could be it. She had seen death before, but never one so sudden and inexplicable.

He didn’t look injured, so how did he die?

Illness, perhaps?

Casanuella gripped her arms tightly and trembled, her feet planted firmly on the carpet, unmoving. A cold and dreadful realization settled over her like a silk sheet, clinging.

There was a whisper in her head that sounded exactly like her internal monologue and said things she might reasonably think, but it wasn’t hers.

Aren’t they just intrusive thoughts?

But then why do they have a motive?! she thought agitatedly.

She hadn’t imagined it—this whisper wanted her to shut up and go to sleep.

Again, a wave of exhaustion passed over Casanuella, but this time she fought the feeling like her life depended on it. As listless as she had been lately, she hadn’t completely given up on life, and now she had the very real fear that Yarnam might have passed some fatal curse along to her when he died.

The drowsiness only became heavier and more aggressive in response to her active resistance. She conjured cold water with magic and drenched herself, which jolted her awake for a moment, but it didn't last long. She fought back by slapping and pinching herself. The pain brought clarity, but it was only temporary. Soon, she was biting her own arm hard enough to draw blood just to stay awake.

When the first drop of ichor hit the carpet, the sinister drowsiness abruptly faded away.

Casanuella trembled on the floor, shaken and on the verge of tears.

Is it over?

“Get out of my head!” Casanuella clutched her scalp and screamed, though her own spell kept the noise from traveling beyond the confines of her room. Monster, she panted. There’s some kind of monster in my head!

… And what are you going to do about it?

A cold shiver traveled up Casa’s spine as her mouth hung upon helplessly, lips trembling. She felt nauseous now that the whisper was directly talking to her, only it wasn’t a whisper anymore. It was a strong and sinister voice distinct from her own thoughts.

Casanuella’s head whirled as she searched for a way out. She remembered how the assault on her mind eased when her blood spilled and snatched a letter opener off of a nearby table. She held it to her own neck, but her arms started fighting against her, pulling the blade away.

“You want my body!” Casa declared, fighting harder and bringing the blade closer again. “Well if I can’t have it, no one can!”

The silver edge of the letter opener dug into her flesh, and a waterfall of red gushed out. But the monster made her cast a healing spell that kept her from succumbing to her injuries.

Do you have any idea how long I’ve awaited an opportunity like this? You won’t take it from me.

Weak from blood loss and the burden demonic healing magic put on her body, Casanuella collapsed to her knees and then onto her side. Still, she held the knife tight to her throat.

Bastard, she thought. How long have you been puppeting him?!

You’ve never known the real Yarnam, girl, just a corpse called to a greater purpose.

A wailing sob escaped Casa’s throat as her blade continued to bite into it. But no matter how hard anguish and fear pushed her, she and the monster were evenly matched. Both sides continued to weaken and grow exhausted until finally she lowered her knife.

One last careful use of healing magic sealed her throat shut and nearly caused her to lose consciousness. After she had stabilized, a flash of magic cleaned the blood stains from her body and floor. Dragging herself to the mirror, she saw her cheeks and abdomen slightly sunken, looking as ravenous as she felt from the burden of excessive healing.

And yet her eyes glinted with new purpose and a life that had been absent from them for the past weeks.

Yarnam, the soul parasite, was dead.

But so was the original personality of the demoness Casanuella. They had consumed each other.

The being now inhabiting her skin was a new Casa, one called to a greater purpose.