Chapter Forty-Four: Elise's Confusion

The decision Zann made was not without foundation. Through the surveillance capabilities of the dungeon system, he had already mapped out the areas frequented by the humans. It was clear that, after their initial search, these people had determined their direction of attack and begun advancing steadily deeper into the Underdark, establishing several supply outposts along their route. Zann’s objective was to strike at these outposts, annihilating all enemies therein. Of course, the supplies from the surface stored at these outposts were his true prize.

“It seems lately, Master, you’ve developed quite the penchant for robbery,” Enoya remarked, her eyes half-closed and a strange smile playing at her lips as she gazed at Zann. He merely shrugged off his adjutant’s teasing.

“What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is still mine. That’s life, Enoya. You must learn to enjoy it.”

“Yes, I know your life has always been full of surprises, Master.”

Enoya rolled her eyes with a playful grin at Zann’s reply before turning toward Iris, who walked at her side. Although still a prisoner, as a high-ranking mage, Iris had naturally been included in Zann’s plans. No matter their personal grievances, when facing surface dwellers, the Underdark’s denizens could always unite against a common enemy.

Yet Iris showed none of the relief one might expect from someone released from confinement. On the contrary, she looked pale and dazed, her eyes unfocused, as if suffering the headache and lethargy of a heavy hangover.

“By the way, Miss Iris, you look awful. Haven’t been sleeping well lately?”

“Eh? Ah… I’m fine, just a little tired…”

Startled by Enoya’s concern, Iris quickly waved her hands in denial. But her gaze betrayed her, sneaking a glance at Zann’s back ahead of them.

She wasn’t lying—she was indeed exhausted. For reasons she couldn’t explain, every time she fell into deep sleep, she found herself in all sorts of strange dreams: dreams of being a student punished by her teacher, a daughter disciplined by her father, or a wife subjected to her husband’s teasing. But no matter how the scenery changed, the two constant figures were always her and Zann. Sometimes he was the respected teacher, sometimes the doting father, sometimes the loving husband. These dreams were so vivid they began to blur into her waking memory. More and more, Iris found it difficult to distinguish reality from dream upon waking.

It didn’t stop there—even during meditation, Iris could slip into these disorienting dreamscapes. Once, having just entered her trance, she saw Zann open her cell door, stride to her side, and forcefully press her down, tearing away her garments and playing with her body without restraint. Only when she struggled desperately to open her eyes did she realize she’d once again been trapped in a dream.

Because of this, Iris hardly slept at all these days. She feared both sleep and meditation. Though, as a half-vampire, her constitution far surpassed that of ordinary people, the mind and body are not one and the same. Anyone living under constant strain must succumb to fatigue.

Most disturbing and terrifying for Iris, however, was the realization that, as these dreams grew in number and intensity, she found herself more and more willing to accept them.

There were even times, as she lay down, weary and longing for rest, when a part of her began to anticipate what she might dream next. As a mage, Iris always relied on her formidable willpower to rein herself in before she could stray too far. But even she couldn’t say how much longer she could hold out. Even now, reality and dream had begun to blur into one another.

She let out a soft sigh, gazing at Zann’s back with a complicated expression. To be honest, her feelings toward the lord of the dungeon were tangled. At first, she had only felt fear toward him. Now, her emotions were far more complicated. She didn’t know why she dreamed such dreams, nor why Zann always played the lead in them. Did she… perhaps like him?

No, surely not! At this thought, Iris shook her head vigorously, dismissing the notion. She was curious about Zann, yes, but to say she liked him would be an exaggeration, not to mention dreaming such shameless dreams… She wasn’t that kind of girl, was she? Oh, heavens…

How amusing.

Zann glanced at Iris, lost in thought and troubled, and a faint smile curled his lips. Adjusting his glasses, he turned to gaze into the darkness ahead.

The truth behind Iris’s strange dreams, of course, lay with Zann. The entire dungeon was an extension of his body and spirit; within its walls, Iris had never been beyond his reach. What he did to Iris was more than simple psychic intrusion—it was indoctrination.

This was a unique technique Zann had developed from his research into “demonic imprints.” Such imprints could completely immerse and corrupt a person, turning them into a demon lord’s servant. The fatal flaw, however, was that they only worked on the weak. Zann could easily use them on someone like Bix, but against Iris or Verna, the typical method was useless.

So, Zann had pioneered a new approach—indoctrination.

Every psyche had its weaknesses. Zann’s method was to infiltrate their minds without their awareness, seek out those weaknesses, and begin his assault, delving ever deeper into the heart and soul, and then planting the demonic imprint within. If a soul were a land sealed beneath ice, his task was to shatter that shell, loosen the earth, plant a seed, water and tend it, and then patiently wait for it to grow into a mighty tree, melting the ice entirely and transforming the soul into a new world.

In this sense, calling Zann an engineer of souls would not be an exaggeration. But he preferred to think of himself as a gardener cultivating rare blooms.

Iris’s weakness lay in her “life.” As a high-level mage, she was flawless in magic and combat. Attacking her on those fronts would have little effect. But in matters of daily life, it was a different story. The cloistered life of the convent had instilled in Iris an ascetic routine; her desires were minimal, almost unbefitting a noblewoman of her birth.

Yet, precisely because of this, these were uncharted waters for Iris. Zann seized the opportunity, and each night’s dream was a carefully crafted illusion, an assault on Iris’s psyche, conjured by his spiritual power. The results were clear. Though she had not fully fallen, the seed was sown—it only remained to wait patiently for it to sprout and take root.

For now, however, Zann found the human supplies far more alluring than Iris.

“Stop.”

As the group rounded another corner, Zann signaled with a gesture for the others to halt. Narrowing his eyes, he peered into the depths of the cavern ahead. For this operation, he had brought only Enoya, Verna, and Iris, along with his alien legion, leaving the duergar behind. Though his numbers were small, Zann was unconcerned.

He had already dispatched his brood to scout ahead, and now, using his psychic link with them, he had a general sense of the enemy outpost. This one was located in a large, abandoned mine not far from Blackstone Abyss, guarded by over fifty well-equipped sentinels. In addition to warriors and rogues, Zann had also detected spellcasters. Judging by the insignia Iris had previously recovered, these spellcasters were likely clerics, though their deity and purpose underground remained unclear.

If they were ordinary adventurers, a cleric or two would not be surprising. But these people were heavily armed and clearly belonged to the same organization, making their actions suspect. Moreover, according to his scouts, the humans had devoted considerable effort to fortifying the outpost’s defenses and were even expanding. This did not seem the behavior of a group passing through for a brief adventure—it felt more like a long-term occupation. Something was definitely amiss; the stench of trouble hung in the air.

A cold glint flashed in Zann’s eyes at the thought.

But whatever the case, now that they were here, they would not be leaving.