Chapter Forty-Eight: The Art of Spirit Communication

Jann’s guess proved to be correct. As a supply outpost, the stores here were indeed substantial; in addition to construction timber and stone, Jann unexpectedly discovered a trove of standard-issue equipment, weapons, and even materials for magical use. There were also a fair number of consumables, including holy water and healing scrolls. Jann took everything without the slightest hesitation. He not only sent out all the goblins from his dungeon to scour the place for valuables, but even dispatched the xenomorphs to help with the hauling. Through the dungeon’s scouting system, Jann had already noticed several patrol teams that seemed to have realized something was amiss at the supply post and showed signs of returning. He needed to finish everything before then, so he didn’t have time to carefully inspect his spoils; anything that caught his eye was taken first—there would be time enough to examine it all later.

But aside from the loot, there was another important matter Jann needed to clarify.

The abundance of resources at this supply outpost not only revealed the deep pockets of those behind these people, but also suggested that their incursion into the Underdark was far from a mere excursion. It was clear these people intended to remain underground for quite a long time—a notion that didn’t fit with Jann’s understanding of surface adventurers… In fact, they didn’t even look like ordinary adventurers.

So what, exactly, did these people want in the Underdark?

Ordinarily, Jann would have cared little for such affairs; he would have taken the spoils and departed without a backward glance. But this was different: their proximity to his dungeon was too close for comfort. If he failed to uncover their purpose, and they happened to bring trouble to his dungeon… Gaining experience was all well and good, but his domain was still in its infancy; should he be overwhelmed, it would indeed be a troublesome predicament.

“But still…”

“Investigate? And how do you plan to investigate? Aside from us, there are only corpses here. If you’d said something earlier, maybe we could have left two alive…” Vilna, arms crossed over her slender sword, glared coldly at Jann. Her words were not without reason—Jann’s earlier attack had eradicated any and all resistance at the outpost; every soldier had been killed, whether struck by lightning or crushed by falling stone. Not a single soul survived, not even someone clinging to life.

The old archbishop sprawled before Jann was no different. He lay amid the rubble, his chest caved in by a massive slab of blue stone, half a meter across—there was no saving him. For all his strength, he stood no chance against Jann’s all-out storm; a spellcaster whose defenses were broken was as helpless as a fledgling, easily killed by stone or steel alike.

“There’s no need for that.”

Unmoved by Vilna’s complaints, Jann adjusted his glasses and finally spoke.

“If we had a living captive, it would only complicate matters. We have neither the time nor the inclination for protracted interrogation and torture—such methods are inefficient and wasteful… Enoia, I’ll leave it to you.”

“Yes, Master.” Enoia, who had been quietly standing behind Jann, stepped forward at his call and moved to the old archbishop’s side. She extended her delicate, pale hand and, with a gentle push, slid the heavy slab aside. Without effort, she lifted the archbishop’s corpse and laid it flat on the ground. Witnessing this, both Iris and Vilna exchanged puzzled glances, curiosity in their eyes as they watched Enoia work, wondering what she intended.

Seeing their confusion, Jann chuckled softly and explained.

“Enoia possesses a necromantic art that doesn’t require interrogation to extract information. It’s far superior to torture for our purposes. After all, corpses neither lie nor resist.”

“There’s such a technique?” Vilna’s eyes lit up at this revelation. As a dark elf, she had witnessed her family’s torture of traitors and prisoners—an art her kind treated as entertainment. Yet even they could glean nothing from the dead; true, necromancers might sometimes bind a soul and extract information, but Enoia did not seem the type to wield such magic.

Vilna and Iris knew Enoia somewhat, as Jann’s adjutant, she managed many affairs, often spending more time with them than Jann himself. Yet Enoia remained an enigma to them; only one thing was certain—she was undead.

Even so, her existence was uncanny. Undead were known to forsake their souls and emotions to gain immortality. They were incapable of joy, anger, sorrow, or delight—any display was mere artifice, like a program running in a machine. This was the price and punishment for evading death.

But Enoia was different. She appeared gentle and serene, which was itself an anomaly—undead should be cold and impassive, not exuding warmth and tranquility. Moreover, they could see the deep attachment in Enoia’s gaze when she looked at Jann—something no emotionless undead should be capable of.

As a being who defied all convention for the undead, Enoia was a riddle wrapped in mystery. Now, as she prepared to perform her necromantic art on the old archbishop, Vilna watched with keen interest.

Iris, on the other hand, after surveying the scene with a furrowed brow, suddenly grew pale as parchment. She glanced at the eager dark elf beside her, opened her mouth as if to speak, but ultimately shook her head and lowered her gaze to the ground.

Jann, noticing Iris’s reaction, raised an eyebrow with a slight smile, then turned to Vilna and said, “Miss Vilna, why not search the outpost for any correspondence? We might glean some clues from their letters.”

“I’ll do it later.” Vilna shot him a dissatisfied look before turning her attention back to Enoia. Jann only shrugged and smiled, unconcerned by her disregard for his order.

Now, under everyone’s gaze, Enoia began her work.

She extended her right hand and, like a blade, plunged her slender fingers into the archbishop’s chest. Without hesitation, she drew her hand downward, slicing through skin and muscle, exposing bone and viscera. The metallic scent of blood filled the air, causing Iris to recoil half a step. Even Vilna’s eye twitched—dark elves might excel at torturing the living, but they had little interest in mutilating the dead.

Yet Enoia’s expression remained unchanged. Smiling, she reached inside, grasping the heart that had long since ceased to beat. At her touch, the heart suddenly swelled, ballooning like an inflated bladder, and the archbishop’s corpse jerked violently. Iris gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth as she retreated in horror. Vilna, too, blanched, her gaze darting around nervously as her hand tightened on her sword hilt.

“Heh…”

Jann chuckled quietly at their reactions. Necromantic arts were much like the soul-binding spells of necromancers, except the latter required a captive soul, while the former needed only a corpse. In the eyes of a necromancer, the dead kept no secrets—their hearts concealed what they could not say, their tongues preserved unspoken words, their brains all they had ever thought in life. All of it remained in their flesh and bones. The necromancer’s task was to wring these secrets out, as one might squeeze juice from fruit.

Thus, the practice was invariably gruesome, revolting to witness. Jann was long accustomed to it, but Vilna and Iris were unprepared. Watching Enoia extract and examine each length of intestine left them both ashen-faced.

When Enoia cracked open the skull and held the brain stem to her nose as if savoring a fragrance, Iris finally could bear no more. She turned and retched, fleeing the scene in a stumble. Vilna stamped her foot in frustration, biting her lip, and finally turned away, addressing Jann.

“The patrols could return at any moment. I’d best look for clues to these people’s identities!”

With that, she turned and dashed off, her speed nearly matching a shadow dancer’s—had she gained new power from this ordeal? Perhaps she should be made to witness Enoia’s “work” more often; she might reach legendary rank sooner than expected. Whether Vilna herself would agree was another matter entirely.

“Whew…”

After a moment, Enoia finally set aside the ruined organs, stood, wiped her hands with a handkerchief, and nodded to Jann.

“Everything is clear, Master.”

“Excellent.” Satisfied, Jann nodded and turned, casting a final glance at the ruined outpost.

“Let’s be on our way.”