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Chapter 9: The Linguistics of Foreign Tribes
The woodland mausoleum was a vast underground tomb, the resting place of warriors who had fought against the apocalyptic king Darrendel and his mighty legion two centuries ago. Two colossal statues carved from hard granite stood at the entrance—warriors wielding swords that crossed in mid-air, forming an imposing gateway to the burial chamber. Beyond the gate stretched an endless darkness so profound it seemed to whisper a warning to all who dared enter: once you step through this door, you’ve entered the eternal night governed by Teflimar, the goddess of death.
Perhaps it was the overwhelming gloom of the mausoleum that made my eyes struggle to adjust as I walked through the gate. For a moment, it felt as though I were passing through a curtain of condensed light; the outside world twisted and blurred with the interior’s shadows, as if space itself had been torn apart and hastily stitched back together.
Though we’d merely crossed a threshold, it felt as though we’d traveled through a long tunnel into an entirely foreign realm. We had followed Dreambound Forever’s group of five into the crypt—they were just two steps ahead of me when we entered, close enough for me to grab hold of their cloaks. But once inside, only our own party remained; there was no trace of the other adventurers.
“Huh? Where did those five go?” I asked in surprise.
“They’re in another instance,” Longbow Sunshot replied casually.
“Another what?” My astonishment deepened. Could you imagine it? Two groups walking almost simultaneously through the same doorway, yet because they were a step ahead, they ended up somewhere else.
“You don’t actually know what an ‘instance’ is, do you?” Seeing my clueless expression, Long Triangle looked at me like one might admire a rare animal.
I shook my head humbly but honestly.
“I can’t believe you,” he sighed. “You come here without even knowing basic things. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really a millennial.”
Millennial? On my map, there wasn’t any region labeled as such. By nationality, I am undeniably Delranian—not whatever “Millennial” Long Triangle referred to. So...
Once again, I shook my head firmly.
Strangely, this perfectly normal reaction seemed to leave Long Triangle utterly exasperated. He threw up his hands dramatically in surrender. “Fine, you win. This joke isn’t funny anymore.”
It was finally Longbow Sunshot who explained: each adventuring party enters separate instances, identical copies of the same dungeon where teams cannot interact until they exit.
The dwarven priest’s explanation was clear, and I understood immediately—it was simply a high-level spatial magic creating multiple dimensions within the same space.
Contrary to its exterior appearance, the mausoleum wasn’t completely dark. Magical lanterns hung along the walls, casting dim but sufficient light to reveal its interior. Opposite the gate stood a massive mural depicting scenes from the war two hundred years ago. Time had faded much of the paint, and patches smeared with dried blood gave the artwork a macabre, unsettling aura. To either side of the mural were doors leading deeper into the crypt.
Between the mural and the gate, rows of stone coffins lined the hall. They appeared disturbed—moss and dust smeared carelessly across their surfaces, spiderwebs torn and dangling limply around the edges.
“Be careful,” Long Triangle warned nervously, recalling past deaths. “These coffins are filled with vampires. As soon as we get too close, they’ll crawl out. You guys wait here while I lure them out slowly. Jeff, be ready to tank. Clado, plant your totems.” He glanced pointedly at the tauren shaman, signaling him to prepare.
Clado hesitated, looking between the coffins and Long Triangle’s commanding gestures. It seemed he wanted to say something but thought better of it, nodding reluctantly instead.
Long Triangle took this as tacit understanding—a misunderstanding that would soon prove regrettable.
As Long Triangle began sneaking forward invisibly…
“Ahh!” Clado, the tauren shaman, suddenly exploded into action. With a primal roar, he swung his double-handed battle axe wildly, charging straight into the cluster of coffins. One blow shattered a coffin, releasing a vampire clad in black armor, pale-skinned and wielding a longsword. More vampires emerged from surrounding coffins, encircling the reckless tauren.
Clado’s ferocity confirmed his pureblooded tauren heritage—and also his reckless impulsiveness. His dramatic charge left us stunned, unable to react or stop him. Was this some kind of hallucination? There was no reason for a tauren shaman to act so recklessly. Everyone wore expressions of disbelief—until Clado’s health dropped halfway, snapping Long Triangle out of his jaw-dropped stupor.
“What the hell is this lunatic doing?!” Orc rogue muttered angrily, brandishing hammer and dagger as he joined the fray.
“Holy shit, I’ve finally met someone crazier than me!” Even Longbow Sunshot, our usually brash dwarf priest, sounded impressed as he cast a healing wave on Clado.
Despite their numbers, the vampires posed little threat. Their primary skill, "Blood Drain," functioned similarly to bats' vampiric abilities, siphoning life force from enemies. However, beyond this ability, their melee combat prowess was disappointingly average, not living up to their "Frenzied Warrior" title. Moreover, they harbored an instinctive fear of fire. Even low-level spells like Firebolt dealt significant damage, with Black Aurora’s fiery projectiles illuminating their path to destruction.
Still, being surrounded by hordes of vampires didn’t make Clado’s situation any easier. His initial rampage drew most of the undead to him. I guessed his robust frame resembled a prime cut of beef to these bloodthirsty creatures. Red beams of draining energy latched onto him greedily, peeling away his vitality like waves receding from shore. Without timely interruptions to their spellcasting and Clado’s desperate self-preservation tactics, he’d have been reduced to jerky.
Shamans rely heavily on their handcrafted totems, imbued with extraordinary power during battles. Clado, though impulsive, proved himself a competent shaman. After cleaving a weak vampire aside and stomping the ground with War Stomp, he planted a sturdy Life Totem into the stone floor—one-handed, no less. If shamanism ever bored him, construction work awaited.
The Life Totem restored health to allies within range, keeping Clado alive despite the odds. Given the chance, he might have planted them everywhere like crops. Alas, cooldown timers forced him to cling desperately to a single totem.
Notably, the phallic design of the totem stemmed from ancient fertility symbolism, representing unbroken lineage and vitality. Only the famously brawny tauren could craft such ostentatious icons. Watching it, I couldn’t help feeling slightly inadequate.
Even bolstered by the totem, Clado’s predicament worsened under relentless attacks. Yet, fueled by the wild spirit of his race, he fought harder still, roaring fervently:
“Help me quick! I’m about to collapse…”
His cry carried distinct tonal qualities unfamiliar to me—flat consonants and nasal resonance peculiar to the tauren tongue. It sounded less like battle enthusiasm and more like urgent pleading.
To my surprise, Long Triangle and Longbow Sunshot reacted strongly.
“Did you understand that?” Longbow asked.
“It sounded… Cantonese,” Long Triangle mused uncertainly.
“Of course it’s Cantonese! What I want to know is what he wants!”
They turned to Black Aurora, casting spells behind us.
“Hey, do you know what he said?”
Our elven mage hurled a fiery spear before shaking his head innocently. “Sorry, I don’t speak Shanghainese.”
Black Aurora’s reply, delivered in yet another dialect, highlighted a shared trait among these languages: none of us understood a word.
“I give up,” Long Triangle groaned.
“This Shanghai nonsense is killing me,” Longbow muttered, resisting the urge to test the wall’s durability with his skull.
Meanwhile, Clado screamed again: “What are you idiots doing?! Help me already! I’m dying here!”
Suddenly, it dawned on me. His cries weren’t boasts—they were desperate pleas for rescue.
“I think…” I panted, kicking away a lunging vampire, “…he really needs help.”
“Jeffrey, do you speak Cantonese?” Long Triangle asked hopefully.
“No, I don’t. But judging by how low his health bar is, I can tell his situation is dire.”
Just then, a vampire stabbed Clado in the rear. A strangled yell echoed through the chamber as the mighty tauren collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
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