The only emotion swirling in his chest was panic.

Jester didn't have much in his pocket or in his brain. Yet, he'd decided to take his chances in the dungeon. He'd believed that nothing was beyond him, much less a dungeon. That's why he'd gathered some like-minded buffoons and delved into it.

He had enough foresight and planning to pack a bagel. One bagel for a weeks long trip. He'd assumed that he would be able to hunt and eat as he went along like the Jun Warrior's.

Now he was delirious with some unknown poison pulsing through his veins, the other buffoons had been abandoned and his back was on a craggy, slimy wall. There were bestial roars and a pack of scraggly hyenas came running out. He screamed and tried to move his arm but it was stuck.

The giant gaping maw of a slime was unloaded on top of him. Even at this moment he was incapable of achieving some state of clarity. The awful burning of his being ripped apart was not what he felt.

Instead, the slime deposited him somewhere. He looked around and the walls were smooth and crystal black. The only thing of import in the room was the giant blood red crystal. It was massive. Four grown men would have to splay their arms out to grab it.

Jester was so enamoured by it, and the immense fantasies of booty, women and the absolute debauchery he would engage in once he sold it was flowing through his mind.

He didn't notice the flowing shadows behind the crystal. The shadow moved around and sneaked behind him. It grabbed his mouth and throat and in one clean fluid motion pulled his head to the right. There was a crunch and Jester joined the dead. He'd died happy and with visions of treasure.

Standing on top of our would be adventurer was a zombie. It's body looked like someone had taken a towel and wringed it. It was hunched and straw-thin. The only thing of import was it its heads. It had two. Both of them were trained on the dead adventurer.

"Are you going to search it it or should I?"

"I'll do it." The zombie bent down and started going through its clothes. He did have a decent set of linen pants and a cotton shirt. He was wearing a leather vest, there was some chain-mail sewed into it on the inside.

He had a pouch of coins in his buckskin boots. The zombie started dressing itself. There was a little locket on its neck, with a small copper coin, it had intricate carvings on it.

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There was no weapon, Jester had dropped it along the way, he hadn't bothered to bring in a back-up dagger. What kind of adventurer would drop his sword?

The other head was using an intricate technique at the moment. Its ready.

The zombie placed his hand on the adventurer's head and something was pulled out of it. It was a swirling, writhing mass of agony. It's blissful fantasies had been interrupted, Soul Search was an inherently painful process.

Anybody else and they would have to prod at them for years. Yet, this was a mortal and not a strong one at that.

The left head decided to ask the first question, "What's your name?"

"Jester." The soul screamed in agony, all of them did. Depriving them of nirvana was an unimaginable cruelty.

The zombies demanded answers and they got them. "What is this place?"

"The City of Cyan." The zombie did demand some answers but the screams were getting in the way. A little jolt was all it took to put an end to that.

They started with the most menial basic questions. It took hours and hours of questioning before they were satisfied. Even the simplest of questions devolved into hundreds of queries. Something as simple as who is the ruler of this land(it was Baron Term) prompted hundreds of questions.

Who was above him? What were the rankings of nobility? How much power did he wield? Over how much land?

The supernatural prompted even more enthusiasm from the zombie. The left head reared itself on mention of magic, spells, techniques, martial arts, the horror and beauty of magic. The buffoon wasn't of much help in this regard. He was aware of some circumstantial information with no specifics.

Once they were done with their questions they let him go. It would either disperse or return to the cycle. Forceful destruction was out of budget.

(1) We can't leave it here, there's a steady stream of visitors, someone else is bound to stumble down here again. He was referring to the red crystal.

(2) We should keep the soul.

(1) What? Why?

(2) Translation. How are going to understand what people are saying? But no fusion.

Both of them cringed at that. It was the easier option but not without consequences and an overhaul of their personality. Not to mention, someone like Jester...

(1) No, no but what is this?

[You've Been Rewarded 100 Coins]

[First Kill: Accomplished]

[Name: Unnamed]

[Title: Dungeon Monster]

[Title Buffs: None]

[Strength: 7]

[Magical Power: 4]

[Agility: 5]

[Vitality: -]

[Skills: None]

The left head focused on the magical powers and there was a prompt.

[Would you like to upgrade Magical Power?]

[MP 4 > 6]

[100 Coins have been consumed.]

There was not much of an effect. (2) Is this the system?

(1) I think so.

(2) Weird. The right head yawned and looked around. He had no interest in it.

(1) I'll take it over.

(2) Sure. Let's go outside. I'll bind him up.

The zombie moved and used some of its essence to make a complex construct. It bound it to the copper coin and bound the soul to it. An in-pocket translator. The roars and screams disappeared.

(1) Let's go find the 'dungeon core'. He was interested in the magical properties of a creature like that.

(2) Let's find some of these martial artists. They sound similar to body cultivators.