"You've got something on your face. Not wounds. I don't know what... though it reminds me of something..." I mutter the last part mostly to myself.

Ronan approaches Joe and stares. I have a hard time figuring out what he's doing. Because we don't have a mirror or any water surface where he could be seen reflected. But his creatures can send images directly to his mind.

"I do not know what this is, my lady. I have never read about or experienced anything like it."

"Maybe from draining mana and life from specters?" I ask rhetorically. "Hmm..."

"Well, if it is some kind of curse, I will find out when I touch the stone slab."

"True."

We walk to town, where guards bar our entry at the gates. In fact, there's commotion. They make us wait outside for twenty minutes before opening the gates to reveal Sergeant Tovan and his men.

Oh! It's the soldier I crashed into earlier.

"Good afternoon again. I'd introduce myself, but you already know I'm Sergeant Tovan. They tried bringing the officer in charge of our village detachment, but he's busy. So, it'll be me who asks you what the hell you're doing with all those dungeon corpses."

He starts respectfully enough, though not particularly friendly, but ends up scolding us like we're his errant soldiers.

I'm actually intimidated.

Ronan seems unfazed and starts responding, but I place a hand on his arm to take over.

"Excuse me, Sergeant. Are we not allowed to take undead out of the dungeon?"

"Of course not."

"But yesterday we brought two zombie golems."

"That was just two. A couple of small ones is fine." He sighs. "Did you truly not know?"

"No, sir. If we've done wrong, please tell us so we can fix it."

The fact that I'm honest and we don't act like spoiled noble kids who probably come here every year for the missions helps him relax a bit. He even softens his tone somewhat as he continues speaking.

"Dungeon cores are kingdom treasures, valuable resources that help us level up our soldiers and those civilians willing to risk their lives in the process. They're sources of magical items and materials too. Just two rules: do not seek the core chamber—in fact, damaging it is considered a crime of high treason—and do not extract too much matter from the dungeon."

Oh...

"This second point," the sergeant continues, "applies equally to loot, creatures, minerals, or any natural resource growing in the dungeon. Meaning you couldn't have clear-cut trees and removed that timber, at least not in quantities the dungeon couldn't regenerate. If mobs drop loot items, those can be taken." He points to the bundles the trolls carry. "You may keep those pelts as they're considered loot. But the corpses must return so the core can reabsorb them, or it would exhaust its resources and eventually fail to recreate its creatures."

"But they are my friends. If it reabsorbs them, it will take time for them to be free again."

Hmm... I try following Ronan's logic. He raised them with souls. To Ronan, being free means being his skeletal or zombie friend. But do dungeon mobs even have souls? And assuming they do, when they respawn, is it the same soul or a different one?

That dungeon core better hope it's a different one, because if Ronan keeps a small bone fragment from each corpse and reanimates them, he'll call those same souls back—since he already summoned them once.

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Well, or Ronan better hope, since I doubt he could recall a soul that's already inhabiting a living creature.

"Free? Wouldn't the dead be freer resting in peace?" I hear the sergeant asking Ronan, sounding a bit perplexed by my friend's comment.

"Don't mind him, necromancer things," I interject.

He looks at me, frowns and keeps talking:

"I understand. But the walking corpses return to the dungeon. Don't worry about your loot, my soldiers will help carry it to the academy."

"Can I not keep at least one?" Ronan asks, eyeing the alpha.

Tovan seems ready to refuse but ultimately takes pity.

"One. And not too large."

The alpha steps forward. The others set down their loads and begin trudging back toward the dungeon. Ronan accompanies them, probably to say goodbye inside—sadly—before canceling the animation. Maybe even asking the dungeon core to look after them.

I'd wait with the sergeant, but I follow to offer moral support. Though I don't enter the dungeon when Ronan requests privacy.

Notably, no one said anything about keeping one bone from each or the golems' cores. If he reanimates them by spending his own mana to create matter, that shouldn't harm the dungeon.

When he emerges, I raise an eyebrow. He nods and pats something under his cloak, likely his now-full material pouches rather than the salamander.

Another oddity—the marks beneath his eyes have vanished.

Only upon returning to the academy do I realize why they'd seemed familiar.

I'd definitely seen them before.

"My lady, is something wrong?" Ronan asks, undoubtedly noticing how I've suddenly tensed.

What do I tell him? That I come from another world where his was an otome game? That I didn't finish it but I did see the trailer, and in it there was a lich, a terrible enemy, a necromancer who had taken his pact with darkness too far and had become a terrifying being, one who unleashed a horde of undead against the world and ended the game? It was one of the game-over bad endings to avoid. And it was so brutal that several images appeared in the trailer.

You see, Ronan, a lich with all his skin parchment-like and tattooed with those same markings that radiated from your eyes. No, don't worry, I'm here to lead you down the right path so that doesn't happen.

My goodness...

I wrack my memory for anything my friend might have mentioned, but nothing comes. How could Ronan have become that final boss?

Wait—final boss? Is this why dungeon-crawling with him feels like having an unnerfed boss in my party...

"My lady?" He sounds genuinely alarmed now, leaning close to gently grasp my arm.

His parents... possibly this boy killed them as revenge. And he never attended the academy in that timeline. Then what? Befriended the next demon king? Or did he himself become the demon king?

I frown. Those trailer images showed no shadow wolf, at least none I recall.

"My lady?"

"Bianca?"

The prince?

I blink, forcing myself back to reality rather than memories and inner turmoil. Ronan's practically holding me up now, as if fearing I'll collapse. I must look pale as death.

Vincent, for it is undoubtedly he who just called me, approaches down the hallway with furrowed brow as he looks at us.

Situation: we've exited the academy teleporter and are moving along one of the corridors. It's empty, or it was until we crossed paths with the prince.

And now that I notice, the prince is coming from the direction of the portal room and he's not alone. A girl who's clinging to his arm is trying to make him slow his pace. Behind them, two redheads are watching us while one elbows the other.

"Yes, Ronan, sorry. I don't know why but I felt dizzy for a moment," I lie loudly enough for the prince to hear.

The last thing I need is for him to think that Ronan was so close to me, and holding me, for some other reason.

The thought of the prince feeling jealous or annoyed makes me blush. Because I do want him to think of me that way. Then I realize that's not good—I need to clarify Ronan's just a friend.

And seriously, do I have a talent for encountering Vincent at the most compromising moments?

Normally I'd blame the pup, but he's in my backpack, shrunken in size, and obviously couldn't have had anything to do with it.

"Bianca?" Vincent repeats, now right beside me.

Somewhat abruptly, I shake off poor Ronan's hand—he's done nothing wrong—and turn to the prince with my best smile.

Or I try to, because that clingy girl hanging from his arm irritates me to no end.

"Hello, have you already returned from your trial?" I ask Vincent.

"Yes, just now. You too?"

"Yes."

We stand looking at each other. The silence is a bit uncomfortable, because it's clear there's a discordant element and it's not me, nor Ronan. It's rather that short blonde girl with blue eyes, who won't let go of his arm and who, without the slightest shame, addresses me.

"Are you Edran's little sister? Oh, I imagined you taller."

She imagined me what? What a brat... I don't usually use bad language even in my thoughts, but there's something about that girl, so attached to Vincent, that drives me crazy.

If it were Mary grabbing him like that, fine. Mary is a good person. I think she could make the prince happy. But this social climber... please, she dresses and behaves like a boy, she doesn't match with a prince at all.

And with all this, I'm so irritated, both with her and with myself for taking it so personally, that I even forget to answer her. Then I hear a laugh from Darius. Followed by a "Vincent, you've messed up" that I appreciate. This way the attention shifts from me.

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