To give the lizardmen a chance to perform, Tars had deactivated Fetid Skin beforehand and stood in plain sight. Now that the spell was smoothly recast, the show was nearing its end. The lizardmen collapsed one after another, and Tars caught a flying short-spear with his bare hands. For safety's sake, he had quietly buffed himself with Bull's Strength and Mage Armor while he was pretending to stand dazed.

  The performance lacked originality, but the effect was not disappointing. Judging by the reaction of his second audience member, Tars was quite satisfied. He struck the final note of the curtain call by reaching out and patting Aiskin on the head.

  He was about to say something, but Aiskin suddenly bolted. Brandishing a claw-blade made from a giant black talon, she rushed to the lizardmen and began a frantic cull. At first, she simply pounced and stabbed; once she saw they truly couldn't get up, she slowed her pace, systematically moving from one to the next to deliver two or three finishing blows.

  Watching Aiskin busy herself, Tars forgot what he had intended to say. On second thought, he let it go. She had her own mind; there were things she would listen to, and others she simply wouldn't.

  The two set off again.

  After traversing a strange path filled with jagged rocks protruding like canine teeth, they reached a valley. Following Aiskin's lead, they hadn't gone far into the basin before they found their target.

  It was a black tree, only slightly taller than Tars but covering a vast area. Its form looked as though it were crawling across the ground, with numerous branches spreading out in all directions like a person stretching after sleep—or perhaps like someone struggling in agony, reaching out with every limb.

  With a quick glance, Tars spotted dozens of fruits hanging from the branches. They were black, which made them blend in; had they been a lighter color, he likely would have seen even more.

  "Did Old Golden-Tooth say anything?" He scanned the surroundings, idly kicking at the dirt with his foot. The larger tracks and snapped branches nearby were likely caused by massive underground beasts like the Black-Claw Lord, which probably wandered in occasionally to eat the fruit.

  "Old Golden-Tooth asked me a lot of questions. He said to look for anything strange, and if there wasn't, to dig under the tree," Aiskin said, standing behind Tars and peering around. "Brother Tars, if there's something better than this fruit to eat, can it save Old Golden-Tooth?"

  "Yes."

  He began to walk in circles. "First, we'll rely on the Big-Dumb-Humper. As long as his blood can keep Old Golden-Tooth hanging on, I'll find a way to save him, even if there's nothing good here."

  He kept moving, circling first the grotesque, sprawling tree and then the entire valley, touching and inspecting everything. Aiskin followed him silently. Finally, he stopped in front of the tree and kicked a stone.

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  "I'll go get Bald-Tooth and Big-Humper, and then the rest of the tribe..." Aiskin started.

  "Step back."

  He didn't squeeze toward the trunk to dig. Instead, he pulled Aiskin back and began using his "Bedroom Space" to store the earth and stone in a wide ring around the strange tree. Under Aiskin's astonished gaze, he used this unique method to quickly excavate a deep, wide trench.

  Tars hopped into the ditch for a brief inspection, then continued digging by "collecting" the soil. The ground where the tree stood soon became a tiny, isolated island. Circle after circle, he worked until he was exhausted, then sat to meditate and recover his mental energy while Aiskin stood guard.

  The excavation moved closer to the center, and the island shrank bit by bit. Yet, they found nothing. Aiskin looked worried; the feeling of hope fading is never pleasant. Tars felt the same, though he maintained a calm exterior. Perhaps it was because their stakes were different: for Aiskin, this was her only chance to become a Dragon-Vein kobold and save Old Golden-Tooth; for Tars, he had his path as a wizard to fall back on.

  The island was gone, leaving only the solitary trunk. Tars glanced at Aiskin and, without a word, kept digging down. Shallow roots were exposed, but more plunged deep into the earth. Finally, a faint, strange odor caught his attention. Hidden among the cluster of roots was a black-and-red root, snaking away at an angle.

  After a short meditation, he changed his target and began digging along the path of this peculiar root. It was shockingly resilient, traveling an incredible distance despite its modest thickness. Tars followed it to a corner of the valley, stopping several times to meditate—a process that, conveniently, allowed for significant construction progress within his Bedroom Space.

  The root didn't stop there. It began to dive vertically, clinging to the hard rock walls of the valley and burrowing downward, a testament to its tenacious vitality. Tars felt he was nearing the answer.

  Aiskin watched anxiously from above. Tars, however, grew steadier; the moment before a mystery is revealed is when he is most calm. It is the lack of direction that causes him anxiety. As he neared the end, he slowed down, widening the opening above to prevent a cave-in from burying him.

  He was right to be cautious. That tiny, unassuming root had led him to a staggering depth. He finally stopped chasing it when he spotted a cavern opening in the rock wall. The root disappeared through the top of the hole. Tars didn't rush; he cleared away just enough dirt to estimate the size of the opening. It was massive, but he only cleared enough for himself to pass through.

  He moved forward, collecting soil and stone as he went, until suddenly there was nothing left to collect. He stepped into a vast, hollow cavern containing a prominent pool of water—and a gargantuan creature fast asleep beside it.

  He tried to take a step, but his legs felt like jelly. He quickly cast the Zero-Ring spell Spirit Boil on himself to suppress the rising tide of terror. Whether it was the magic or just psychological, it actually helped.

  Is this a dragon?

  He saw the root emerge from the ceiling soil and stretch all the way into the pool. Then he turned to look back at the sleeping behemoth. Bracing himself, he stepped closer. The pool was at the feet of the giant, and its source was clearly coming from the creature.

  There was a faint scent of blood in the water.

  This pool... the smell of blood... this big guy...

  He looked left and right, peering from different angles. An answer gradually formed in his mind, though it seemed utterly absurd: this was a dragon that had been hiding here for who knows how long, so badly injured it was urinating blood—and apparently, it did so even in its sleep.

  That is, if it really was a dragon.