Chapter 107: Dying with Eternal Regret

A warrior always fights alone!

Yes, acting as a shield with one's own body, standing tall and proud in front of comrades, turning one's battling back into a safe, threat-free haven. Right before you are those terrifying, powerful enemies. They are so close that the hot breath from their mouths almost condenses into water droplets on your face. And all you can see in your eyes are their wide-open mouths roaring wildly, the dazzlingly sharp blades in their hands, and the seemingly endless crimson fluid spraying forth from their bodies.

In the eyes of the finest battle-warrior, comrades are never in sight. Your body is the very forefront of battle, and ahead of you are only enemies—only those terrifying weapons longing to suck the life out of you, and the all-pervading blood swirling through the air, enveloping you in a thick, salty, iron-scented atmosphere that never seems to dissipate, coming both from your foes and from your own flesh!

This is your profession, your mission, and your life. When everyone else is exhausted and falls back to regroup, you alone must fight to the bitter end, not yielding a single step. The only thing that can release you from this heroic and perilous responsibility is the eternal night of death.

In this sense, the battle-warrior is indeed a solitary profession.

Because of this, the most trustworthy partner in the heart of every battle-warrior is never the healer who can bring them back from the brink of death in moments of crisis, nor the ranged attacker who can lend a helping hand and strike down foes from ten paces away, but rather the sturdy shield and sharp blade in their own hands that they will never forsake. This is the first barrier they can rely on when facing formidable enemies. It is also their final chance to snatch survival from the jaws of death. When they grip them tightly in their palms, it means they are taking their own life and destiny firmly into their own hands.

Therefore, every battle-warrior is a proud eccentric; they believe only in their own strength and courage, always convinced that true combat means fighting face-to-face with the enemy, tearing flesh apart with sharp blades, and crushing opponents through sheer might and fighting spirit. Any combat techniques other than these are, to a greater or lesser degree, opportunistic, and their effectiveness is truly questionable.

It was precisely with this mindset that I viewed the "Demon Prison Battle Soul" summoned by Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge. I held no great expectations for this grim-looking otherworldly demon. In my view, no matter what kind of magic it was, it would be difficult for it to bring about a decisive reversal in our current battle situation—let alone when it was merely a summoning spell below level fifty...

This crimson-bodied magical creation first casually tossed a "Fog of Sluggishness," capable of reducing attack power, right into the middle of the enemy pack. Then, it unceremoniously slapped a layer of "Courage Armor" onto itself to boost its defense in a short time, before letting out a low, hoarse roar to cast "Blood-Boiling Roar," which increased the critical strike chance of its allies. Following that, it plunged murderously into a group of undead guards. With a cross-slash of its two sharp claws, a series of colorful numbers instantly burst forth above the heads of three "Bone Guards"—if I was not mistaken, this single claw strike simultaneously carried a whole string of additional attack effects such as "Area of Effect," "Venomous," "Rending," and "Heavy Blow"... The damage numbers generated by various effects flew across the sky like a queue, dazzling to the eyes. Just as I was hacking away until my sword was nearly notched just to finally chop down a "Bone Archer," the Demon Prison Battle Soul had already cleanly dispatched its second opponent and was extending those dangerous demonic claws toward its third unfortunate undead warrior—while at that moment, it had lost less than two-thirds of its health points.

Actually, there was nothing all that remarkable about it. It merely possessed the ability to hold the line against attacks like a heavy-armored warrior, deal damage like a fierce assassin, weaken enemies like a dark warlock proficient in hexes, and simultaneously support allies like a bard—that was all. Aside from that, it had nothing truly extraordinary about it...

Damn it. This kind of self-deceiving, silent grumbling couldn't make my battle-warrior heart, which had suffered a heavy blow, feel any better at all!

Power is a dangerous thing, especially when a certain power grows strong enough to shatter the balance of this world and threaten the very existential foundation of the entire realm. Such power in its own right ought to be eradicated—regardless of whose hands it rests in. The omniscient and omnipotent Supreme God, His Majesty Daramos, obviously would not overlook this simple truth. Therefore, among the numerous laws of power He created for this world, the summoning and utilization of powerful familiars like the "Demon Prison Battle Soul" were subjected to rigorous restrictions.

This otherworldly demon could only exist within large-scale magical spaces known as "dungeons"—although I knew nothing of the arcane and bizarre spatial magic, I guessed this was because the application of "dungeon" magic interfered with and weakened the power of the spatial laws established by the Supreme God. Once it left the "dungeon" space, the "Demon Prison Battle Soul" would immediately be sucked into the spatial rifts at the edge of the dungeon, unable to continue surviving in this world. To a certain extent, this fact verified my conjecture.

Moreover, when successfully summoning the "Demon Prison Battle Soul," warlocks would lose a good deal of their spellcasting capabilities—I guessed this was because they had to maintain a soul connection with these terrifying otherworldly demons, thereby greatly weakening their ability to control magic.

Despite facing numerous constraints, compared to the other familiars the orc warlock had summoned in the past, the combat effectiveness of the Demon Prison Battle Soul remained shockingly and ruthlessly formidable. Furthermore, its intelligence was by no means comparable to those low-level monsters that only produced squeaking and rattling noises.

When its health dropped into a dangerous range, it would complain to Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge in awkward Common Tongue: "You idiot, sharing your soul with me—that's what the contract says, otherwise don't bother me." Whenever this happened, Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge would timely cast the spell "Soul Equilibrium," evenly distributing the health points between himself and the Demon Prison Battle Soul.

Not only that, but when the magic effect of the enemy-defense-reducing "Cloud of Decay" wore off, the Demon Prison Battle Soul would roar indignantly: "They weren't this strong just a moment ago, can't you think of something else?"

When there were too many enemies and the Demon Prison Battle Soul could not cope alone, it would loudly warn: "I think you should not only share your soul with me, but also share your enemies with me."

Even when Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge's health was depleted too much, this all-around otherworldly demon would remind him with deep concern: "Get out of the way, your soul belongs to me, I don't want to see you slaughtered by this bunch of trash!"

...

At first, Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge attempted to fight in a different way, but he soon found that the Demon Prison Battle Soul's suggestions were golden advice that was simply impossible to refuse. Having long been accustomed to the sluggish state of "lag," Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge seemed to find it difficult to adapt to this high-intensity combat, and could only obey the Demon Prison Battle Soul implicitly. In the end, he simply handed over the command of the battle entirely to his familiar, fighting strictly according to its instructions:

"You idiot, share your soul with me..." The Demon Prison Battle Soul cursed loudly among a group of undead guards, loudly humiliating its own master. Although its defensive power was quite formidable, being attacked by four or five enemies simultaneously still caused its health to deplete very rapidly.

While frantically casting the "Soul Equilibrium" spell, Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge muttered in bewilderment, "Just who is whose familiar here anyway?" This question immediately drew several looks of contempt from the rest of us.

"You idiot..."

The battle cry of the Demon Prison Battle Soul sounded like a thought-provoking answer...

...

The combat power of the Demon Prison Battle Soul truly far exceeded our expectations, but unfortunately, in the face of the overwhelming numerical superiority of the corrupt minions, any form of "strength" was merely a relative concept. In an unprecedentedly brutal clash, the Demon Prison Battle Soul, due to being overly aggressive, drew the attention of six undead guards at the same time. Although it heroically dispatched two of them, the damage it sustained far exceeded its capacity to endure. After being pierced by a fierce clustered lightning bolt, this valiant otherworldly servant finally completed its first mission upon descending into this world, screaming as it transformed into a red puff of smoke and was sucked into a spatial rift that materialized out of thin air.

Having lost the immense assistance of the Demon Prison Battle Soul, we found it virtually impossible to move an inch in this fortress filled with danger at every turn. With no other choice, we could only find a small patch of safe open ground to briefly regroup, waiting for Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge's summoning skill to recharge and become usable once more.

"Huh, where is Niu-Bai-Wan? Why hasn't he come back yet?" It was only then that Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge remembered that there still seemed to be a straggler among us who had yet to return.

Recalling the existence of this biological entity known as Niu-Bai-Wan, I personally couldn't help feeling a little apologetic: lately, I had been getting along so well with the Demon Prison Battle Soul that I didn't feel the slightest bit of sorrow over Niu-Bai-Wan's demise. Mind you, the Demon Prison Battle Soul wouldn't yell at the top of its lungs and beg me for help in a pathetic manner the moment its health dropped by half, nor would it leave me alone in the middle of a mess of enemies while fleeing for its life, let alone wave a dangerous large stone pillar around me and accidentally bash me heavily on the head from time to time...

To be honest, the greatest contribution Niu-Bai-Wan made to this adventure was trading his death for the appearance of the Demon Prison Battle Soul. I felt he had profited immensely from this life-for-life transaction. I racked my brains just to barely recall a few things about Niu-Bai-Wan worth missing: at the very least, he still knew some holy magic to restore health—even though the vast majority of those spells were used on himself.

"Yeah, it's been so long..." B-Flat Minor Nocturne also looked a bit puzzled, "...Where on earth did this guy die?"

Suddenly, B-Flat Minor Nocturne froze, as if remembering something, and cast a meaningful glance in my direction. This tiny hint instantly brought a glimmer of realization to my heart. With the two of us's understanding of our old tauren friend...

"Could it be..."

A gravely ominous premonition instantly enshrouded my heart.

"Wait, let me send him a message first." With that, the bard pulled out his magical notebook and casually dispatched a message to Niu-Bai-Wan's lingering soul.

His action profoundly corrected my worldview—prior to this, I had always thought messages sent to the dead had to be written on slips of paper and burned...

"Where are you?" Nocturne's message was concise and brisk.

It wasn't long before we received Niu-Bai-Wan's reply:

"I'd like to know the answer to that myself..." Niu-Bai-Wan's response was profound.

As expected...

B-Flat Minor Nocturne and I let out a deep, helpless sigh simultaneously, exchanging a helpless look:

"How did you manage to get lost again?"

"I am not lost!" Niu-Bai-Wan argued defensively, "I just don't know where I am!"

"Ask him what he can see around him." I reminded Nocturne. I had great confidence in my memory; as long as it was a place I had visited, I would never forget even the slightest detail. As long as he could describe one or two familiar sights nearby, I could point him in the right direction.

"I think I see the ocean..."

The ocean? I looked around, seeing only rolling hills and jungles everywhere. The scorching sunlight cast a greenish shadow at the base of every object, and the solid earth filled my field of vision. The ocean Niu-Bai-Wan spoke of seemed to exist only in legends, even more distant than the sun in the sky. Distant, distant, distant...

I opened the map, staring with tears in my eyes at the boundless expanse surrounding the Fahlvi Continent—heaven knows how far the soul of this super-pathfinder had drifted to the marginal zones of this world.

"Please hurry back, we're all waiting for you!" B-Flat Minor Nocturne sent a sincere and affectionate call to our comrade, separated from us by the boundary of life and death.

"You guys are truly righteous..." Niu-Bai-Wan expressed the genuine human warmth he felt at that moment due to his friends refusing to abandon him despite life and death with his brief yet expressive words. "...You guys go on ahead, don't let me drag down everyone's progress!"

"Actually, you already have..." Nocturne replied immediately, "...If the party size isn't complete, we can't summon the battle soul..."

Niu-Bai-Wan replied with a strange, demonic character full of arcane flavor: "濉..."

This bizarre, spell-like, enigmatic character was completely incomprehensible to me, but perhaps it truly carried a certain magic that reached straight into the soul, plunging me into a disappointed, embarrassed, and dejected mood.

Sometimes we really couldn't figure out whether "honesty" was an admirable virtue or a malicious habit that hurt people's feelings...

After probably another five minutes or so, Niu-Bai-Wan's grieving soul finally managed to re-enter the boundaries of the "Gravel Fortress." By then, we could already see the direction of his soul's coordinates moving on the map. That black dot symbolizing the poor grieving soul of the tauren paladin wove a convoluted route on the map with his astonishingly pathetic sense of direction. The moment his soul entered the gates, it became completely lost amidst the dilapidated ruins of the castle, struggling back and forth five or six times in an alleyway no more than a hundred paces long before finally accepting the cruel reality that it was a dead end. Not long after, the brave and resolute paladin soul of Niu-Bai-Wan marched unhesitatingly straight toward the command tower where the fortress commander, the Black Knight Arthur Dengott, resided. Of course, an ethereal soul was incapable of inflicting any damage upon the most powerful enemy in this castle. Before long, he slunk away, ending that futile journey. To top it all off, right around the abandoned castle's central fountain lay a nightmarish seven-way intersection. Niu-Bai-Wan ran in circles around this round fountain a full seven times, and then blunderingly plowed headfirst onto the main avenue leading directly to the fortress exit...

To be honest, I held no hope for the future of the Fahlvi Continent. Compared to the moment of the apocalypse, relying on Niu-Bai-Wan's soul to find his own corpse would probably take an even longer time.

Just when my despair had reached its absolute peak, a turn of events finally occurred: Niu-Bai-Wan had carelessly stumbled onto the correct path leading to us, and, ignoring the branching paths on either side, marched straight ahead with his head down. This was definitely an accident—of that I was deeply convinced, but therein lay the surprise and joy of life: we always had this tremendous privilege of witnessing the occurrence of low-probability events with our own eyes.

When Niu-Bai-Wan, resurrected once more and shouldering his obsidian pillar, reappeared before us, my heart was filled with a myriad of emotions. Among them, the strongest sentiment was: I truly never expected to live to see him again before I grew old and died...

The five members of the adventure party were reunited once more, and the conditions for summoning the Demon Prison Battle Soul were finally met again. Eager to save the world, the adventurers felt no hesitation, and the orc warlock Ding-Ding-Xiao-Ge immediately began loudly chanting the lengthy incantation to summon the powerful familiar.

"I wonder whose turn it is for bad luck this time..." I glanced at the others with a somewhat mischievous look.

Fairy Descending with Face Plant turned somewhat pale with fright, lightly patting her chest and muttering under her breath, "...Please don't let it be me, please don't let it be me..." Although Niu-Bai-Wan's return ensured that a blood sacrifice could immediately effect a resurrection, not many people were willing to endure the soul-crushing dark moment when death descended.

"Niu-Bai-Wan, I see your glabella is darkened; I'm afraid you have the look of premature death. Let's hope it's not your turn again this time..." B-Flat Minor Nocturne winked teasingly at the newly resurrected tauren paladin.

"Cut the crap. What are the odds that bad luck falls on me twice in a row? You'd better worry about yourself. Keep talking nonsense and if you die you can run back to your corpse yourself; I'm not coming to resurrect you..." Niu-Bai-Wan remained entirely unconcerned, splitting his wide mouth in a carefree, mocking grin—indeed, the chance of becoming the random sacrifice twice in a row was simply too slim. In our minds, Niu-Bai-Wan had been entirely ruled out of the category of potential sacrifices this time around, and even Nocturne himself probably wouldn't take his own joke seriously.

A flash of intense light swept across once more, and having already experienced it once, we did not panic out of order this time. When the blinding light faded and our vision recovered, we opened our eyes once more, calmly searching for this round's sacrifice...

A great sage once said: "If a bad result can possibly happen, it will certainly happen, and moreover, it will lead to the worst possible outcome."

Facts proved that this saying was a truth that could fully withstand the test of practice!

"Old Niu, how come it really is you again..."

Niu-Bai-Wan's cold corpse lay on the ground with its eyes rolled back, tongue hanging out, staring blankly in death...