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Chapter 8: Back from the Dead
I never imagined that in tackling the woodland mausoleum quests, I’d encounter others even worse off than me—and not just one person, but two.
Longbow Sunshot and Long Triangle had arrived at Valor Fortress around the same time as I did. Like me, they’d completed nearly every available task before deciding to team up for the mausoleum challenge. Two heads (and fists) were indeed better than one; they successfully breached the outer defenses and entered the structure itself. But their adventure ended there. Upon stepping inside, a swarm of vampires descended upon them, sending their souls flying out of their bodies almost instantly.
Yet these two weren’t about to give up so easily. After respawning, they trudged back to retrieve their corpses and tried again. Unfortunately, death greeted them once more before they could even catch their breath. This cycle repeated—not once, twice, or thrice—but a staggering five times. At this point, I couldn’t help but admire their tenacity. Clearly, they possessed more resolve and courage in the face of endless suffering than I ever did. I half-suspect they found some profound meaning in the fleeting warmth of resurrection light and the cold embrace of oblivion, choosing this peculiar path to dance between life and death.
Of all their deaths, the fifth was particularly noteworthy. On this occasion, Long Triangle, the orc rogue, finally learned something from his repeated failures. As soon as he respawned, he cleverly activated his Stealth skill, vanishing amidst the vampire horde. Just as escape seemed imminent, disaster struck—courtesy of none other than Longbow Sunshot. The dwarf priest inexplicably cast Darmos’ Call, a healing spell meant to restore vitality. The radiant glow immediately exposed Long Triangle’s position, turning what should have been a quiet getaway into a gruesome feeding frenzy. In that moment, Long Triangle experienced firsthand the true terror of “Darmos’ Call.” And alongside him, naturally, was his ever-loyal companion, dragged down together in glorious defeat.
“When I saw that glowing aura and my health skyrocketing, I wished I could die all over again!” Long Triangle growled, glaring daggers at Sunshot. His anger was understandable, though technically speaking, dying was inevitable regardless of his wishes.
“I was trying to heal myself,” Sunshot explained sheepishly, “but…well, I accidentally targeted him instead.”
After multiple cycles of death and revival, their equipment deteriorated beyond repair, rendering further attempts futile. Ultimately, they made the wise decision to resurrect directly at the city’s “revival point” (its location known only to ghosts, apparently). It was why I found them dressed like beggars wandering through town.
“So why don’t you repair your gear?” I asked, puzzled. “Unless you think rags are fashionable lately.”
“Well…” Hearing my question, Sunshot straightened up indignantly and shot an accusatory glare at Long Triangle. “…you’ll have to ask him!”
“Hey, Jeffrey,” Long Triangle interjected, suddenly taking interest in my sword. “How’s that blade working out? Good damage? There’s a shop nearby selling a nice longsword—it might suit you better. Ever thought of upgrading?” He hooked an arm around my shoulder, steering us toward another street.
Touched by his apparent concern, I replied sincerely, “No need—I’m quite happy with this one.”
“Don’t change the subject!” Sunshot snapped, pulling Long Triangle back. “Jeffrey wants to know why we haven’t fixed our gear!”
“Uh…well…” Long Triangle absently patted his bloated stomach, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s…a small issue, really.”
Here’s the truth: Before heading to the mausoleum, Long Triangle had proudly learned a new skill from his trainer—Pickpocket. With it, he could steal items from unsuspecting victims. Eager to practice, he tested it repeatedly on Sunshot, returning each pilfered item afterward. That is, until one fateful attempt when he successfully lifted Sunshot’s coin purse…
At that precise moment, city guards descended upon them, accusing Long Triangle of theft within the fortress walls. A swift beating ensued, followed by confiscation of all their money—including Sunshot’s hard-earned savings.
Thus, standing before me now were two utterly broke adventurers. Beyond their tattered clothes and indomitable spirit to face death head-on, they owned nothing.
Across the road, a white-painted slogan adorned the wall—a phrase that must have resonated deeply with Long Triangle:
"Hands off, or hands will be caught!" —Valor Fortress Security Patrol.
“No one helped you guys?” I asked. “What about Elegant Strings and Fei Yin? Couldn’t they send some funds?”
“They’re on another mission together in Gemflower Plains,” Long Triangle rolled his eyes. “With Fei Yin around, do you think Elegant Strings has any money left? Besides, even if he kills monsters solo, he barely earns enough for arrows.”
“And if Fei Yin finds out we lost everything…” Sunshot shuddered visibly. “…I’d rather run naked through the streets.”
Considering their predicament, I understood their reluctance entirely.
“Alright, I’ll pay to fix your gear,” I offered. “Then we can tackle the mausoleum together. My progress has stalled too.”
Hearing this, the two brawlers who moments ago were exchanging blows clapped hands joyfully.
“Hooray! I knew you wouldn’t abandon us! You’re truly the merciful Sister Guanyin, savior of countless souls…”
Sister Guanyin? What kind of name was that? Did I resemble a woman?
Regret washed over me as soon as the repairs were done. No sooner had we stepped out of the blacksmith’s shop than an orcish female warrior strode past us—a grotesque sight with her spiky ponytail, massive tusks jutting from her mouth, acne-ridden face, and nostrils pointing skyward. Above her head floated a vibrant green name:
I Am Sister Guanyin.
Damn it. How could anyone mistake me for that monstrosity?
If I’d known, I’d have sent those ungrateful fools begging door-to-door all the way to Liezong City!
---
Soon enough, our trio set off once more for the woodland mausoleum. Past failures granted us ample experience, transforming what was once a perilous journey into a leisurely stroll. The vicious beasts that once troubled me now fell swiftly under our combined assault.
Eyes gleaming with bloodlust, Long Triangle and Sunshot scavenged relentlessly, wishing they could scoop up handfuls of dirt to sell later. Yet barely a third of the way there, they began complaining about insufficient inventory space, dumping items recklessly onto the ground. Watching them grimace painfully, it felt less like discarding loot and more like carving chunks out of their own flesh.
When we reached the mausoleum entrance, we discovered we weren’t alone. A group of adventurers stood outside, gazing expectantly down the road. Scattered around them lay numerous vampire descendant corpses—a testament to their earlier exploits.
Our arrival stirred excitement among them. From afar, they hailed us enthusiastically, gesturing for us to join quickly. One man, “Dreambound Forever,” eagerly sprinted toward us.
“Hey, friends! Are you planning to enter the mausoleum too?” Dreambound asked breathlessly, hope shining in his eyes. A level-32 human warrior wielding a mighty hammer and shield, his gear exuded power and prestige. Compared to my humble attire, I felt downright pitiful.
“Yes,” I answered curtly, planting my Saberfang Shredder firmly before me—the sole piece of equipment worth mentioning. Perhaps he’d notice it.
“And…do you have room in your party? Any more members joining?” To my disappointment, he seemed uninterested in my sword.
“Nope, just us three,” Long Triangle chimed in.
“Perfect! Perfect!” Dreambound sighed in relief, walking beside us. “Could you do us a favor? Let two of my friends join your group. This is a five-player dungeon, and we’re…overstaffed.”
The term “dungeon” was new to me, referring to a specific area magically restricted to allow entry only to groups of a certain size.
As Dreambound explained, the woodland mausoleum was precisely such a dungeon. Once a group exceeded five members, entry became impossible. Their dilemma was clear: solving it required leaving two people behind. Yet judging by their demeanor, abandoning teammates wasn’t an option. They’d waited patiently, hoping to find a smaller party willing to share space.
We saw no reason to refuse the extra firepower. Later events proved that determining who helped whom remained ambiguous.
Dreambound, clearly the leader, wasted no time securing permission. Returning to his group, he promptly selected two candidates: Black Aurora, an elf mage specializing in fire magic, and Clado, a tauren shaman—a rare sight in Delrania Kingdom.
Shamans drew their power differently from mages, priests, or warlocks. While mages harnessed raw elemental forces and priests borrowed divine energy, shamans believed true strength stemmed from ancestral spirits. Through rituals involving totems, they channeled this spiritual essence into combat. Unlike frail scholars, shamans tended to be robust warriors, formidable even without magical aid. Their practices were most common among tribal races like tauren and orcs, though rumors spoke of isolated human tribes practicing shamanism in the northern wilds.
Both newcomers appeared reserved, nodding politely when greeted.
“Thanks for looking after my friends,” Dreambound said warmly. “If you ever need anything, just let me know. I owe you one!”
With a final wave, he pushed open the mausoleum doors and vanished into its shadowy depths.
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