"Did she just say something about never eating her own kind again?" Tasha asked uncertainly.
"Hm? That's her thought," Victor replied through the link. "Not a bad idea, really. That meat would just go to waste anyway."
Tasha rolled her eyes dramatically, then turned her gaze back to the teary-eyed beast-eared girl lying on the ground, biting her lip. Her heart was filled with helplessness.
"You're not feeling guilty for reading her thoughts, are you?" Victor teased. "Come on, it's her fault for thinking so loudly. She should know better than to leave her thoughts unguarded as a contracter. Who else is to blame for being that careless?"
Marion's thoughts were too intense; Tasha didn't even need to actively eavesdrop to hear them. Tasha made a mental note to watch her own emotions from now on, lest other Contractors—especially unscrupulous types like Victor—overheard her thoughts. She had no intention of letting Marion know her mind leaked during intense emotional swings. The poor girl was already scared enough.
Tasha rather liked her. Sixteen years old—in Tasha's world, she'd still be in middle school. Marion's ears twitched constantly, her large eyes flashing with wariness. She wolfed down her food, glancing nervously at Tasha every so often, as if she might lunge and snatch her meal. Watching her eat with such relish was heartwarming. Tasha could have spent the entire night observing her, like an auntie shoveling food into a skinny, impoverished schoolgirl, or a stray cat feeder under a bridge. Both shared a similar sentiment.
She explained to the werewolf girl that it was all a misunderstanding, offering water and bread to the flustered, crimson-faced youth. The kitchen produced bread, meat, and a white melon that hovered between vegetable and fruit. Tasha couldn't speak to its taste, but it provided solid nutrition. Magic was truly convenient. Each unit of canteen space could magically transform one hundred units of food per unit of time... Forgive her vague explanation, but Tasha found it difficult to measure and convert these things based on past standards. It was easier to calculate and plan directly in her mind. Her dungeon instincts handled this effortlessly, allowing her to easily determine how large a kitchen was needed for a given number of residents.
The bathhouse and restrooms followed suit. After Tashar stopped the slimes from devouring any guests, they took up residence in the toilets and began processing waste. It sounded a bit gross, but with employees who literally turned trash into treasure, what was there to complain about? After obtaining organic matter, the slimes even started slowly dividing and multiplying. Areas they frequently crawled over left behind substances that glowed in the dark, with a brightness comparable to magic stones. Tasha mused that this could solve the dungeon's underground lighting system.
"...Huh?"
Tasha snapped back to the present from elsewhere in the dungeon, quickly recalling what Marion had just said.
Oh, she wanted to go outside.
Marion's eyes darted nervously as she mentioned going to the surface to scout where the enemies had gone. Even without mind-reading, Tashan could tell she was hiding something.
"I'll go with you," Tashan offered deliberately.
"No!" Marion blurted out, then hastily added, "It's fine, I can handle it alone. I'm less conspicuous by myself, and if spotted, I can escape quickly."
She had noticed the ghost wasn't particularly fast—a bit clever, that.
Tasha paused, watching until Marion's ears began twitching nervously. She sighed inwardly, deciding that if she ever gained a physical form, touching those ears would be her first priority. Nodding, she said, "Don't die out there." Marion visibly relaxed, nodded repeatedly, and dashed out.
"You just let her go like that?" Victor asked. "You should teach the puppy some rules. She knows nothing about the contract now. Be careful she doesn't get clever and run away or spill the beans."
"She won't."
"Because you trust her?" Victor sneered.
"I trust my judgment," Tasha said, watching the werewolf girl's receding figure. "The others are still here with me."...
Marion still held a loaf of white bread—the ghost had told her to take it before leaving. "I can't eat it anyway," the ghost had said. "And don't die out there, or I'll be the one at a loss."
That last remark made its—her concern sound far more understandable, less frighteningly affectionate. Marion secretly thought she was kinder than many humans, provided she didn't start demanding payment from the vagrants living there next. Marion had no certainty about this; her experience and wisdom weren't enough to handle it, so she had to go out and find someone who understood. That would be far better than confronting the ghost directly about release.
She stuffed the bread into her mouth. It was still warm, soft as Marion imagined clouds to be. The pure white loaf was light and sweet, filled with no sand or bran—as if made entirely of flour (she said "as if" because she'd never tasted such bread and couldn't judge). Her hunger, awakened then soothed, relaxed gratefully.
The world brightened, revealing sky and ground once more.
Marion drew a deep breath of earthy air, still faintly scented with human presence though much fainter than before—they might have left already. It was midday on the surface, and sunlight made her eyes blink repeatedly before adjusting to the light after emerging from darkness. The air above was fresh, open, and dangerous. Marion cautiously oriented herself and ran toward the spot where they had descended.
She found the spot. Dark bloodstains still stained some rocks and stumps—it hadn't rained in the past two days. She followed the stream for a few steps but couldn't immediately locate where the old oak man had hidden. Seconds later, Marion gasped, realizing what had happened.
A large tree had appeared among the distant bushes.
She ran over, parted the undergrowth, and called softly, "Grandfather?"
For a long time, Marion received no answer, only the rustling of oak leaves in the wind. During hibernation, the Old Oak appeared as an ordinary tree, but he'd once said that even after death, he would become just another common tree.
Slowly, a pair of eyes opened within the tree's rough grain. The flat hollow of the eye turned downward, and a deep, slow voice sounded in her ears like heavenly music. He said, "Marion..."
"Grandfather, we survived," Marion said happily. "We hid. Ella says most people are still alive. Are you all right?"
"Not bad," the Old Man Oak offered a wrinkled smile. "But I'm afraid I can't move for a while."
Marion nodded, glancing around futilely for a moment. It was time to broach the difficult subject; she couldn't hide it forever. She licked her lips and blurted out in one breath, "Grandpa, it's like this. There were so many soldiers, I couldn't get everyone out. Then I happened to meet a ghost. She asked if I wanted to sign a contract... Actually, I didn't understand what she said, but she pulled out a piece of paper. I think she wanted me to sign it. I mean, there were so many human soldiers closing in..."
The Oak Elder's brow furrowed the moment she mentioned the ghost. Marion spoke too quickly, and he didn't get a word in until she finished. "You signed? On a piece of paper you didn't understand? With a ghost?" he asked, his frown deepening like a tree knot.
"I had no choice. I was dying." " Marion said, biting her tongue at the Oak Elder's expression. "No, I'm fine now! I'm perfectly fine!" She hopped up and down twice, forcing a big smile. "The ghost healed me! She opened the ground just like I asked, hid all the survivors inside, treated me, and gave everyone food. I think she's a good ghost. Ella thinks so too."
That last bit held no weight—Ella considered everyone a good soul. Marion's mind was swirling with doubts and unease, but facing the Old Oak, she couldn't help but speak kindly, unwilling to worry the elder, as if saying so would make everything truly alright.
"Hid you underground?" The Old Man of the Oak's eyes widened, his speech suddenly quickening to that of a normal person.
"Well, because there was nowhere else to hide?" Marion said uncertainly. "There was a huge space underground, with maze-like passages and lots of rooms—enough to fit all of us. I saw her make these giant statue-like rats dig. They were really good at it."
"An underground city!" Oak Grandfather exclaimed.
Marion wanted to say it probably wasn't much of a city—most of it was crude and makeshift—but the gravity in Oak Grandfather's tone and expression stopped her from explaining. He'd never looked so stern before. Marion's heart skipped a beat, a vague sense of trouble settling in her chest.
The oak sighed deeply, its leaves rustling as the face on its trunk seemed to age a little more. "Marion," he said gravely, "don't let that ghost know. Get everyone out quickly, before anyone else makes a pact with her."
"Yes," Marion replied. She should have felt relieved to have a clear plan, but a tangle of questions knotted in her mind. Grandfather Oak seemed to understand this strange ghost—was it ancient too? She didn't seem entirely evil, and the food she offered looked good. Marion couldn't help but secretly hope against hope, even as she dared not believe it. This sentiment felt weak and foolish, yet Marion couldn't stop herself from asking, "Why?"
The Old Oak stared at her, as if condemning her for wasting time on questions. Marion quickly found an excuse: "The human army hasn't retreated yet. Leaving now would be dangerous..."
"Nothing is more dangerous than staying in the dungeon—for any creature above ground," the Old Oak interrupted. "It is the abyss's outpost, a gaping maw devouring life, the greatest enemy of all surface beings!"
"Worse than humans?" Marion asked, unconvinced.
"Worse than humans. "The Old Oak shook his head, his branches trembling in unison. "We fought alongside humans for centuries, sacrificing nearly half our kin and losing a quarter of our land, all to drive the Abyss's creations from the surface. They would destroy every beautiful thing above ground, shatter living bodies, and devour the souls of the dead."
"But I've never even heard of the Abyss..." Marion murmured, her understanding hazy. "If that's the case, why aren't humans fighting the Abyss anymore?"
"Because we succeeded," the Old Oak said bitterly. "Both the Abyss and the Celestial Realm no longer exist."